Shattered
by Lynse
Summary: Lies can destroy friendships, destroy lives. But sometimes, maintaining a lie is the only thing that can preserve everything. Sequel to Intentions.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story takes place after my story _Intentions_, which diverged from canon after series four. You'll have to read that story first (or PM me for a quick rundown) to understand this one as I pick it up almost immediately. As with last time, there's no slash, and any spells that show up over the course of the story will be taken from the _Merlin_ wiki page.

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I make no money from this work of fiction!_

* * *

Arthur had never thought he would be a good actor.

He'd seen countless fools perform, watched various troupes enact stories, and listened to many a storyteller and minstrel in his time, but he'd never quite appreciated their talent before now.

He knew what it was like to steel himself for battle, to put on a brave face for the sake of the knights. For the sake of all of Camelot, really. But this was different.

This was…. This was a lie.

A constant lie.

He ate when he had no appetite, drank wine he never tasted. He smiled when it was called for and could even muster a laugh if necessary. He listened to the pleas of his people and handed out just rulings, oversaw the knights' training and suffered through council meetings. He made plans to tour through the outlying villages, he gave speeches, he arranged to host delegates from other kingdoms….

He did everything that was expected of him, but his heart wasn't in it.

His head wasn't in it.

He was hollow inside, merely going through the motions, wishing desperately that no one would notice.

Wishing that those who did would come up with a reason other than the truth upon which to lay the blame.

But although he was treated to a few lingering looks, no one confronted him.

Not even Gwen, although he suspected that might be because she believed she already knew the truth.

But she didn't.

Not all of it.

She wasn't sharing his pain.

She didn't have to live the same lie as he.

To be honest, Arthur wasn't sure how Merlin had managed to do it for so long. He'd thought Merlin was a terrible actor.

Of course, he'd also thought Merlin a terrible liar.

Arthur had thought this would be easier without Merlin around. He'd thought it would be easier if he didn't have to face Merlin every day. He thought he'd rather choke down a feast that tasted of nothing more to him than sawdust under George's watchful eye, no matter how fresh the fruit or how recently the bread had come from the ovens, than to have to eat whatever Merlin found him for breakfast.

He'd thought that things would be easier in the morning.

That, if the first morning remained difficult, the second would be better. That time would make the wounds less painful. That the distance between the present and the secrets of the past would somehow make everything seem _less_. Less important, less cutting, less _real_.

It didn't.

Nothing did.

Arthur had seen to it that Merlin had set off for home the morning after…everything. Merlin had protested, but Arthur had been firm, and eventually Merlin had agreed to pack his things. _"Just for a few days," _Merlin had said eventually, after a long evaluating stare that Arthur had found reminiscent of Gaius. _"To give you time."_

And because he hadn't seen his mother in a very long time, and because even Merlin knew better than to refuse the opportunity when Arthur had offered it. And, undoubtedly, because Merlin knew it was more of a command than a suggestion.

But Merlin was due back tonight, and Arthur hadn't had nearly enough time.

He hadn't even managed to come up with a good excuse to talk to Gaius alone. To get the facts straight.

And he still couldn't fight the sickening feeling that rose in his stomach whenever he thought of Merlin. Merlin, and all he was hiding. Merlin, and all he had done.

And Arthur knew he didn't even know half of it.

Yes, he was grateful, but….

But things would be so much easier if the truth wasn't the truth. That's part of the reason he'd never protested when Merlin had proposed…this. This lying, this pretending that nothing was wrong.

At the time, Arthur had told himself that his agreement on the matter was for the best of the people. Those in the castle, anyway, if not the rest of Camelot. This abstaining from telling the truth was to protect everyone else from the turmoil he was feeling.

It was better for Gwaine, for instance, to believe in Merlin's mask. To believe that the Merlin he thought he knew was the only Merlin there was. That Merlin wasn't hiding anything. If Gwaine found out that the man Arthur was quite sure he considered to be his best friend was a sorcerer, he'd….

Well, to be honest, Arthur wasn't quite sure what Gwaine would do. He wasn't quite sure what he himself was going to do, other than trying to get through another day without anyone else realizing the truth. But he did rather suspect that Gwaine's method of coping would involve a rather large amount of liquor.

A part of him wished he had the luxury of drinking away this…knowledge and all the stomach-churning feelings it brought with it.

But he was King Arthur of Camelot, and he needed to keep a clear head. Even in situations like these.

Merlin had promised to tell him the whole truth. He'd promised that he wouldn't keep things from Arthur, that he'd lay the truth out and let the king make his decree. But as much as he hated it, Arthur wasn't sure he could trust Merlin anymore. After all, Merlin had never said _when_ he'd tell Arthur everything. What if he simply told him _most_ of the truth? Or what if his slanted perspective unintentionally altered the truth of his stories? Arthur would never know.

There was a knock at the door, and Arthur closed his eyes to compose himself. It shouldn't be Merlin. He shouldn't be back yet.

Besides, Merlin might not even knock. He didn't always, even if he should. He barged in unannounced more often than he knocked, actually, so it really shouldn't be Merlin.

Although he might very well knock if he suspected Arthur to still be in the unsettled state he was.

"Come in," Arthur called.

Gaius entered, and Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He rose to his feet, one hand automatically reaching out for the piece of parchment on the desk he'd been spending his hours staring at. He was certain Gaius knew he'd found out Merlin's secret—Merlin would surely have told him—but Arthur didn't want to relax, didn't want to let his guard down. He didn't want to slip up when someone else was around.

He didn't want to accidentally shatter the illusion that remained in place for everyone else, the one he now knew was far more fragile than he'd ever realized when he'd blissfully believed in it.

"I brought you something to calm your nerves, sire," Gaius said, holding out a vial of sickly yellow liquid.

Arthur had already rolled up the parchment, effectively hiding from stray eyes the list he'd made that had helped him realize the truth, so it was easy for him to take the vial from Gaius with his free hand. "I'm not sure I want this," he admitted.

"It will help," Gaius said simply.

"But I'm not—" Arthur broke off his protests, not feeling up to more lying—especially not under Gaius's stare. "I can't afford," he said instead, "to relax my guard."

"It isn't very strong," Gaius informed him reproachfully. "It will not cloud your mind. It will simply relax you enough so that you do not jump at every little sound. Do not think people have not noticed the change in you, sire."

Perhaps he wasn't as good an actor as he'd thought.

But he was the king, and people didn't question him. Not in minor matters such as this. But if he ever tried to do what he must to ensure Merlin's safety if he continued to stay in Camelot, if he so much as mentioned even _thinking_ about retracting the laws banning sorcery….

Arthur dropped the parchment roll on his desk and met Gaius's gaze. "How," he asked, "can you just stand there, calm as ever, knowing that Merlin—?" He couldn't say it.

Gaius looked at Arthur for a long moment. Then, in a quiet voice, Gaius answered, "Before I even properly met Merlin, he saved me from grave injury. His heart always has been and always will be in the right place. You have no more need to fear his magic than you do to fear him, and you know that Merlin would happily give his life for you."

Arthur pulled a face. "I know Merlin's been…. I know what he's done in the past. I just…."

"The future," Gaius pointed out, "will be no different."

"You can't know that," Arthur argued softly.

Gaius's gaze didn't waver. "I do. I know Merlin. That will not change."

This was the conversation Arthur had wanted to have with Gaius, but he didn't feel…ready for it, perhaps. He kept glancing at the closed doors, trying to assure himself that no one else was listening. Even if someone was, they were speaking too softly to be overheard.

Perhaps he ought to drink Gaius's concoction after all.

"So Merlin's never—?"

"Merlin is as loyal to you as I," Gaius replied. "You should not doubt him."

"I don't…want to," Arthur confessed. "But I just…. How can I not? He's lied, Gaius. For years. I never had any _inkling_ of it until now. If he starts again—"

"I will tell you," Gaius said.

There was nothing in Gaius's tone that suggested otherwise. There was nothing that hinted that he might merely be saying what Arthur wanted to hear.

But Arthur hadn't been able to tell that Gaius was lying when he'd said, in much the same tone, that he did not know Emrys. Gaius was loyal to Camelot. Arthur knew that. He'd sworn he'd never mistrust Gaius again once it turned out that Agravaine had been the traitor all along.

But Gaius was loyal to Merlin, the boy he thought of as his son. Gaius would protect him—had protected him—from Arthur. Of course he'd sing Merlin's praises and vouch for him. But Gaius would never risk Camelot. He trusted Merlin, trusted that Merlin would never become a threat, even inadvertently.

Arthur was still trying to figure out if he could trust either of them, at least where the issue of magic was concerned.

Had Gaius been teaching Merlin all this time?

Or had that been this…Kilgharrah person Merlin had mentioned?

As much as he'd hated not knowing, there was still a part of him that wished he'd never put on that blasted pendant. If he'd been a bit more like his father, too wary of anything magical to even consider its use….

But if he'd been a bit more like Uther, Merlin wouldn't be on his way back to Camelot at this very moment. If he hadn't been banished, he'd be in the dungeons awaiting a public execution. For crimes of sorcery. Assuming he didn't use said sorcery to escape and leave Camelot behind forever.

The thought made Arthur feel ill.

Merlin had nearly gotten himself burned at the stake for using magic. Twice, if Arthur counted the time he'd idiotically confessed to it. And he'd risked it…. He'd risked it _countless _times.

He'd drunk poison and been prepared to do it again—or, at least, what they'd thought had been poison. He'd followed Arthur out to fight a dragon. He'd thrown himself in front of the Dorocha. He'd…. There were _so many_ times Arthur knew he'd foolishly risked his life, times magic wouldn't have helped him.

So perhaps Merlin's intentions were noble and would never change. Perhaps Arthur had him to thank not only for his life and Guinevere's but also for practically every one of his knights' and, undoubtedly, most of the citizens in his kingdom. But none of that would have made a difference to Uther. Uther would have had Merlin killed, calling Arthur enchanted if he so much as spoke a word in Merlin's defence.

So perhaps Morgana was right after all, on one level.

Uther had blindly slaughtered anyone associated with magic.

He had raised Arthur to do the same. Arthur _had_ done the same, even when he'd tried to spare the women and children. He'd known that long before he'd been forced to admit it to the ghost boy at the shrine.

To Merlin, who'd known all about the dangers of disturbing that shrine. Because he had magic, no doubt. Merlin was a powerful sorcerer. He could probably sense it. It would explain why he invariably managed to pick up on anyone who was up to no good and was always proven right in the end, even if Arthur never believed him at first.

But if Uther had been wrong to outlaw sorcery, how many innocents had died? How much blood had been shed in the name of peace? How much was on Arthur's own hands?

How much of his kingdom was built on a lie, and how would he keep it from collapsing if he started to relax the laws on magic?

Should he even take the risk now? Just for Merlin? Merlin, who had already proven himself more than capable of hiding?

He'd thought the easiest thing would be to do nothing. He knew it cowardly—he ought to act—but he'd reasoned that Merlin deserved to have time to prove himself. Merlin had thought the easiest thing would be for Arthur to banish him. That's why he'd taunted Arthur that he should do what's _right_ and not what's _easy_.

But according to the laws, sorcerers should be executed. _That's_ what was right, and that was certainly _not_ easy. But the law had read the same for Guinevere's unfaithfulness, and Arthur had seen her banished, and Merlin had clearly feared Arthur would reach the same decision for him. And feared, as Arthur had seen, that he wouldn't be able to protect Camelot if he wasn't there.

It shouldn't be so hard to trust Merlin.

But it was.

And even knowing that Gaius, loyal as he was to Arthur, would put Merlin's protection first if it didn't directly appear to harm Camelot…. What if Merlin did turn against him or _was_ turned against him, even if it wasn't of his own free will? He knew Morgana practiced dark magic. There had to be something that could rob someone of their senses like that. What if Merlin fell prey and Gaius thought it best to deal with the matter in his own way without informing Arthur?

What if Gaius failed?

Merlin was powerful.

Arthur, who had seen him close to death an uncomfortable number of times, knew he was far from invincible.

Having magic did not mean one was protected from everything.

If someone managed to fool Merlin into thinking he was doing something good and he didn't realize the truth until too late….

Merlin didn't deserve to have such a responsibility hanging over his head. _Arthur_ was the one who needed to be ever-aware for the sake of his kingdom. Arguably, it was better for Merlin if Arthur didn't allow him to stay. He wouldn't have to worry about being the one who unwittingly brought about the end of the kingdom—from within, no less.

Of course, Merlin was more stubborn than an ass, and he'd never see the logic of it.

And Arthur felt less…. He wasn't as comfortable with ordering Merlin about as he used to be. Telling him to go home to visit his mother…. That had been different. That wasn't something Merlin would protest. Arthur knew Merlin wouldn't mind doing that. He would even enjoy it, for all that he wouldn't have appreciated the timing.

But now that he knew Arthur knew about his magic, maybe he wouldn't…. Maybe he wouldn't be so hesitant to use it in front of him when it was just the two of them. Maybe he wouldn't abstain from using it on Arthur himself if he wasn't afraid that doing so would mean Arthur would find out. Maybe—

But this was Merlin.

Merlin had not, in the past, shown any inclination of taking over Camelot, of having Arthur acting as a mere puppet to his will.

Of course, he'd never shown any talent for much of anything before, either.

Well, Arthur supposed he was moderately learned in the healing arts.

Still. _Merlin_. The thought shouldn't even be crossing Arthur's mind.

_But Merlin is a sorcerer._ A warlock, he'd said. Because he'd been born with magic.

Even though Arthur didn't want to admit it, he felt that just made things worse.

He should never have put on that blasted Stone of Æthelu.

If he hadn't, if he'd given up his search for Emrys, he wouldn't have to be dealing with…_this_. He could still be believing in the lie like everyone else. And Merlin would just be Merlin, and Arthur could trust him with his life.

But it was better this way, even if it didn't seem like it. Because this meant things weren't going on behind his back and under his nose. This meant he could judge things fairly. He could be confident in his decisions.

In theory.

He wanted to give Merlin a chance to explain himself. Merlin's actions in the past seemed to warrant that. But Arthur wasn't sure how much time Merlin would ask for, and he had a terrible feeling that Merlin would try to extend it until he could convince Arthur to change Camelot's laws.

As if that were an easy thing to do.

Merlin always tried to see the bright side of things. Arthur had always thought it a somewhat endearing quality. But now he wasn't so sure how much of Merlin's optimism was real. He wasn't sure how much of the Merlin he knew was real. Merlin said that his magic was the only thing he'd kept from Arthur, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to believe that.

That was too easy, for Merlin's magic to be his only secret. Arthur could see that now that he'd had time to think. Merlin was prone to wishful thinking, to underestimating things verbally even if he understood the gravity of the situation; Arthur knew that. But he'd also learned, unfortunately, that Merlin was awfully good at telling half truths.

Arthur wasn't sure he could tell the difference anymore.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever been able to.

"It isn't that simple, Gaius," Arthur said at last. "I can't…. I'm harbouring a _sorcerer_!"

"Merlin is your friend, Arthur," Gaius said firmly. "Everyone knows that, even if you do not freely admit it. And it is something you yourself must know, as it is that friendship which has kept you from acting against him."

Gaius believed in Merlin. Arthur could see that. He could say with complete confidence that Merlin would never move against Camelot. That he was clever enough—_Merlin_, clever enough!—to avoid even being tricked into it. But Arthur didn't have that confidence.

It had been shattered the moment Arthur had realized Merlin possessed magic. That Merlin was a sorcerer. That Merlin was _Emrys_.

There was a small part of him that found the entire affair laughable. Merlin, in a position of power? Merlin, with _any_ power? It was Merlin. The idea was ridiculous.

Except that it was very, very real, and that drained all the humour from the situation.

He wished he could send Merlin away again when he returned, but unless he was incredibly lucky and Gaius had to send him out gathering herbs or some such thing for the entire day, he'd have to face him.

He'd have to look him in the eye, knowing…knowing everything.

Well.

Knowing _almost_ everything.

Enough, at any rate, to know that this wouldn't last, that theirs was a tentative state which would be easily broken. That the illusion, now that he was aware of it, would never fool him again. That it was far too late to stop, to turn back and take a different path. There was no way to go but forward.

Arthur took a slow breath. "How many people have noticed, Gaius?"

Gaius, wise as he was, knew Arthur was not questioning how widespread the knowledge of his friendship with Merlin was. He did not clarify his answer, but Arthur knew exactly what he meant. "All those closest to you."

Those closest to him.

Gwen. Gaius. His most trusted knights: Leon, Percival, Gwaine, and Elyan. They all knew something was wrong, that something had him on edge. Of those, Gaius knew the truth. Gaius and Merlin, Arthur supposed. Guinevere certainly suspected it, and she knew half the story, but he trusted that she had said nothing to anyone else, not even to Elyan. Meaning the knights would merely be guessing themselves.

He'd have to allay their fears. It wouldn't do to have them shooting significant glances behind his back. He didn't need people to start whispering. It would be hard enough to ensure that didn't happen once Merlin returned; he certainly didn't need it beginning already.

"And beyond them?"

"Nothing of note, sire. You have not quite been yourself since you began your search for Emrys. People merely presume that you are still desperate to find him."

He'd been less himself since he'd _found_ Emrys, but it was better for the people not to know that. In a day or two more, he could drop the façade altogether. It would be more than long enough by then to admit that their resources best be put to other matters. Tracking Morgana's movements, for instance. Something else could eclipse his attention, and he could officially close the matter for the time being without the people being any the wiser.

That way, it would be less an outright lie and more a withholding of information for the time being.

Arthur's stomach twisted at the thought of that justification for lying to his people. A small part of him wondered if this is how Morgana had felt when she'd been fooling the kingdom into thinking she was nothing more than Uther's loving ward, restored at last to his side after a harrowing experience that was too trying to speak of. It was unlikely; by then, from what Emrys—_Merlin_—had said, Morgana had already completely turned against Camelot.

Morgana's treachery was something else that Arthur hadn't seen until it was far too late.

Arthur couldn't help but wonder if he'd known about her earlier, if he'd noticed—or if Merlin had _told _him and proven his claims—if anything could have been done. So that Morgana wouldn't have been swept down such a corrupt path. He could have helped her, perhaps. They could have still been friends.

But Arthur wasn't so sure his support would have been enough.

He knew his father as well as Morgana did. "Morgana would have been put to death by Uther if she had been discovered," Em—Merlin had said.

The knowledge made Arthur's heart ache, for he knew it to be true enough. Uther had been heartbroken by Morgana's treachery, especially once it had become more evident that she was not merely acting as Morgause's puppet. He had loved her, blindly, as the daughter she was. Sorcery, however…. That ignited a fury in Uther that blinded him to everything else, and certainly by the time they'd realized the truth of it, Morgana had been beyond saving.

But Morgana…. In light of what she'd become, his father—their father—had been proven right. People like her were the reason Uther had instigated the laws! To _prevent_ this. If she _had_ been discovered and put to death….

Things would be different.

He knew better than to assume it would be better. Camelot would be facing a new threat—there seemed to be no shortage of them—and it could well be as formidable as the one Morgana posed. But would the risk of destruction be the same? Would it still be magical in nature?

Would it still be something fuelled by Camelot's bans on sorcery?

Arthur allowed his shoulders to sag, just slightly. This was Gaius. Gaius was one of the few people who could look easily behind his masks. "Good," he said, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice. He wished this were over, but it wouldn't be, not for him, even if it seemed to be over for everyone else.

Everyone still caught in the illusion, anyway.

"Best take that now, sire," Gaius said, eyeing the remedy Arthur was still clutching. "It will not take me long to prepare another if you desire it."

"Yes, of course," Arthur said automatically, though he made no move to take the concoction. Later. Right now, he needed to think. "Thank you, Gaius. That will be all."

Gaius bowed his head and took his leave, and Arthur stared at the door long after Gaius left. He'd holed himself up in his chambers after he'd concluded his most important duties—the ones he couldn't pass off to others, at any rate—as he had done every day since he'd discovered Merlin's…. Since he'd discovered Merlin. He wanted to keep up appearances.

But it was…. He'd faced down a _dragon_, but this almost seemed…harder. Less certain.

Especially since he knew that the next time his doors opened, it might be Merlin. Back from Ealdor, back from visiting his mother, and, as far as everyone else in the castle was concerned, ready to resume his usual duties as if he'd never left.

But it wouldn't be like that at all.

It would never be like that again.

Because Merlin wasn't just Merlin. He was also someone else, someone Arthur didn't know and couldn't trust, and…. And he had to pretend that that other Merlin didn't exist, all for the sake of the kingdom, just long enough to hear Merlin out, and then he'd have to…. He'd have to….

Arthur sighed, wrenched open the vial, downed Gaius's mixture, and closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Gwaine was on his way to the tavern when he saw a familiar figure picking his way through the streets of the lower town, and his face split into a grin. "Merlin!" he called, waving.

Merlin spotted him and cracked a smile in return as he made his way to Gwaine's side. He looked tired, which was understandable, since he'd undoubtedly been walking since before dawn; Arthur, in his infinite wisdom, hadn't felt that they could spare a horse.

If Gwaine had known ahead of time, he would have argued in Merlin's favour. He would have offered to go _with_ Merlin to protect him, come to that. True, he knew it wasn't the first time Merlin had made the journey by himself, but it was Merlin. Gwaine had seen him in a fight. He could still use some pointers.

Then again, if any of the bandits Merlin happened across had eyes, they might well decide that he was unlikely to have anything of value on him.

Unfortunately, Gwaine was all too aware that most of the cutthroats out there attacked in hopes of getting something, anything, anyway.

But Merlin looked no worse for the wear, so he had, miraculously, managed to avoid trouble.

"How was the journey?" Gwaine asked as Merlin joined him.

"Fine," Merlin said brightly. "Better than when I'm out with you lot, really, because I didn't run into trouble."

Gwaine laughed. "Well, you can tell me all about your non-trouble over a pint," he said, jerking his head towards The Rising Sun.

Merlin, predictably, pulled a face. He never had been the easiest one to drag to the tavern. It wasn't like fights _always_ broke out whenever he went, and it wasn't like he didn't have a taste for it. He went readily enough when Arthur was going, and it was still technically his day off. He didn't have to report to Arthur the moment he got back.

"Arthur's lasted this long without you," Gwaine pointed out. "He'll last a little longer. It's not like Morgana attacked while you were away." Not that Merlin would have been able to do anything if she had, but considering he always seemed to imagine the worst, Gwaine felt it prudent to reassure him. "Really, nothing's changed. Arthur is still searching fruitlessly for this Emrys fellow, and I'm taking bets as to when he gives it up. Elyan thinks he'll hold out for a week. Percival said two, in light of Arthur's stubbornness, but I think he won't last three more days. You want in on this?"

Merlin was frowning now, and he looked a bit paler than he had a moment before, but that could be a trick of the light. "He…what?"

"You know Arthur," Gwaine said, shrugging. "He's getting frustrated, and he's too concerned about being the king his father wanted him to be and still being himself without completely tarnishing Uther's legacy to last for much longer. He can only pawn off his duties on the rest of us for so long, and he knows it."

"Oh," Merlin said. "Right." When he smiled, Gwaine could tell it was forced. "Maybe things will get back to normal around here once he does give up, right?"

While Gwaine had been expecting to hear something along those lines eventually, he had also expected Merlin to sound convinced of them himself. "Hey," he said, not being able to bring himself to match Merlin's weak smile, "did something happen?"

"In Ealdor?" Merlin asked, in a way which led Gwaine to suspect he was deliberately misinterpreting the question. "No, nothing unusual. Look, maybe you're right. I'll tell you all about it first. If Arthur's still having me run after Emrys, I won't have much of a chance later."

Something had happened.

Gwaine wasn't sure what, and he wasn't entirely sure it had even been in Ealdor—Merlin surely would have sent word if his mother was ill and he was spending more time away than Arthur had initially allowed him—but he couldn't imagine what it would be. If it _had_ been something here in Camelot, Merlin surely wouldn't have gone home quite yet. He'd been looking forward to it when he'd informed Gwaine that Arthur was going to give him some time to go home for a visit, but if something was wrong here, there was no reason for him not to wait a few more days. As much as his royal highness could be a complete prat, he'd keep his word. Merlin didn't have to worry about Arthur retracting the offer.

Which meant, really, that Gwaine couldn't even venture a guess as to what was really going on Merlin's mind. It wasn't like him to leave a sticky situation behind. Even when given the opportunity to sit out trouble, he would always plough right on anyway. He didn't fear danger—he could be a bit reckless, and even Gwaine could recognize that—and he didn't fear getting into trouble.

But though Merlin's mouth was smiling, his eyes still looked dark, and Gwaine wasn't fooled for a second.

Now, Gwaine knew the value of using liquor to loosen tongues, but he wasn't one to apply that principle to friends.

Not usually, anyway.

But if Merlin was willing, then Gwaine wasn't above trying. While he doubted Merlin would drink enough to forget himself—contrary to Arthur's evident beliefs, Gwaine knew Merlin was unusually careful when it came to that sort of thing—he hoped Merlin might be distracted enough to let something slip. In Gwaine's opinion, he didn't ask others for help often enough. When he did, it was usually for someone else, and Gwaine thought it rather pigheaded of Merlin to try to go things alone as often as he did when he truly needed help.

That's what Gwaine really thought Merlin was up to whenever he disappeared without a word. Sure, he was a little hurt that Merlin never confided in him—hadn't he proven he could be trusted since he hadn't breathed a word about helping out on Arthur's quest?—but he always figured Merlin just didn't want to bother him with his problems. Gwaine had told him time and time again that that wasn't the case, but Merlin had always just smiled and, with a few words, managed to change the subject, so Gwaine had never pushed it.

Even though he had to admit he _was_ curious about what Merlin was up to whenever Arthur thought he was in the tavern.

If Arthur had asked _him_, he'd tell the truth rightly enough, but Arthur never thought about that, so Gwaine never opened his mouth. He figured it was another way of showing Merlin he could be trusted. He had his back. Merlin ought to know that by now.

"Sounds good," Gwaine agreed, clapping Merlin on the back. "I'll get the first round, shall I?"

"I don't know if I can stay for more than one," Merlin warned him.

Gwaine smirked. "We'll see," he said, thinking he'd get at least three into Merlin before he let him go.

* * *

To be honest, Merlin got back later than Arthur had been expecting. He'd spent the hours waiting for Merlin's inevitable arrival torn between worry and relief. But now Merlin was here as if he'd never left. He'd waltzed into Arthur's chambers, made some snarky remark that already escaped Arthur—something about not greeting him right away—and went about collecting Arthur's clothes, rambling on about his visit home.

Arthur couldn't believe it.

Merlin was acting as if nothing had ever happened.

After a quick glance at the door to assure himself that it was tightly closed and he wouldn't be overheard, Arthur hissed, "How can you do that?"

Merlin, who had been gathering up his tunics, paused and looked over at him. "Do what?" he asked, sounding like he honestly had no idea what Arthur meant.

"That."

Merlin blinked at him. "Pick up your washing?"

Arthur closed his eyes, wishing he had Guinevere's patience. "No," he ground out, unwilling to yell at Merlin at the moment, however tempting it was. "Pretending…pretending like _that_. Like nothing happened."

Merlin looked at him blankly. "Nothing did happen."

Arthur's fingers flexed and he had to stop himself from reaching out to grab the thing nearest to him and throwing it at Merlin. "Of _course_ it did," he insisted. "You…you have…." He shook his head. "I _know_, Merlin. About _you_."

"Yeah," Merlin said slowly, "I know. But nothing's happened recently, has it?"

Arthur threw up his hands. "That _was_ recently! Stop pretending this hasn't changed anything, Merlin. It's changed _everything_."

But Merlin was shaking his head. "Not really. Because neither of us is going to do anything differently until you make up your mind, right?" Arthur glared at him, and Merlin winced. "All right, all right, so I really _was_ in the tavern with Gwaine for a bit when I got back or I would've been here earlier. Now maybe you could go back to keeping your voice down?"

So help him, Arthur was going to kill Merlin, magic or not. "You're late because you were in the tavern?" he said slowly, his tone flat.

Merlin hesitated. "Not for as long as you're thinking, Arthur. And Gwaine insisted. Besides, it paid off. Did you know he's taking bets for when you're going to call off the search for Emrys? Leon didn't want to go in on it—Gwaine figures he thinks he needs to keep up appearances, him having been around the longest and all—but everyone's been watching you."

Arthur sighed. "I know," he said, his anger draining out of him. Merlin had changed the subject, but he would go back to the point of the matter later. If Merlin had learned anything, it would be in his best interests to find out what that was. "That's why I kept up the search."

Merlin beamed at him. "You used your head," he said approvingly. "That's a new one, I've got to say. I was half expecting you to do something spectacularly thick-headed and give me away."

Arthur stared at Merlin for a moment before he realized that Merlin didn't believe what he'd just said. He would have refused to leave if he'd thought his secret was in danger. By leaving, he'd shown that he was trusting Arthur with the secret he'd guarded his entire life, and trusting that Arthur wouldn't inadvertently let it slip.

Arthur wished he could trust Merlin as much in return, but seeing him come back and just so easily carry on as if nothing had happened….

"How much did you even drink?" Arthur demanded. "Because you're not acting drunk. Did you just…just do something so you…?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

Merlin raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Arthur, just because I have magic, it doesn't mean I use it for every little thing." He paused. "In the entire time I was there, I had two tankards of ale and a rather large amount of pickled eggs, all courtesy of Gwaine, so I suggest you officially drop your search for Emrys in the next three days so that he can afford that and everything _he_ drank while trying to convince me to have more. It might've just been between the two of us, but he must have used a good chunk of his salary."

So he wanted Arthur to keep quiet to preserve his secret, not because he was in such a state that he couldn't stand loud noises—though Gwaine might well be that way tomorrow. But still. _Gwaine _offering to pay for everything? Apparently without protest or some sort of wheedling? That was more worrisome than anything else Merlin had said.

Assuming it was the truth, considering how often Merlin had lied before and how steady he seemed after having any drinks, when before Arthur had hardly known him to be able to hold his liquor at all.

But perhaps he simply didn't know how much was a lie and how much was actually _Merlin_ anymore.

Arthur frowned. "Glad to see you, was he?"

"I suppose so," Merlin allowed, "but he seemed worried about something. He kept asking loads more questions than usual."

"Meaning?"

Merlin shrugged. "He knows something's wrong somewhere and he's not sure what. From what he was telling me, anyone who knows you well knows that you're off your game."

Gaius was right, then. Arthur supposed he wasn't really surprised. It should be a good thing those closest to him knew him so well.

But that just made everything so much _harder_.

How did Merlin do it?

Merlin was a sorcerer. For all Arthur knew, he could…modify memories or make them forget things or make them overlook the little telltale signs that—

But this was Merlin.

Merlin certainly wasn't that clever.

At least, Arthur hadn't known him to be particularly devious, for all that he did have the occasional moment of cleverness in between being a complete idiot.

But Merlin wasn't the Merlin Arthur knew, and as much as he tried, he couldn't…pretend. He couldn't distract himself so he could forget, for one merciful moment, that Merlin had magic. That Merlin _used_ magic and had for far longer than Arthur had known him. And he couldn't happily trade barbs with Merlin, either. Not when he…. Not when he knew.

Things just weren't the same.

And it made Arthur more uncomfortable than he'd ever admit aloud.

If only he'd never heard Morgana mention Emrys. If only Coran hadn't told Arthur his true purpose. If only the Druids had said nothing to Gwaine or Gwaine nothing to him. If only Merlin hadn't felt bound to deliver him that bloody Stone of Æthelu or if he hadn't put the blasted thing on. If only he'd dropped this matter when he'd first had the sense that it was bigger than he really thought. If only….

But there was no use thinking on how things would be blessedly different when they so very clearly weren't and would never be again, at least where this matter was concerned.

"Everyone thinks it's just because you still haven't managed to catch Emrys," Merlin continued, blithely unaware of Arthur's inner turmoil. "I don't think anyone suspects the truth."

"Who could conceive the truth?" Arthur asked bitterly, still partly wishing he hadn't.

Merlin, who by now had an armful of dirty clothes, finally stopped what he was doing—more likely because he'd finished gathering everything up than anything else—and gave Arthur a measured look he'd expect from Gaius or Gwen. "Arthur," he finally said, "things don't have to change between us."

Merlin clearly didn't understand anything.

Everything already _had_ changed.

Yes, he was going to have to pretend it hadn't, but every time he looked at Merlin….

"And if you keep looking at me like that all the time," Merlin added, "everyone else is going to realize that you think something has changed. Arthur, it hasn't. I'm still the Merlin you know. I just…have magic. That doesn't make our friendship a lie. That doesn't taint my loyalty to you or to Camelot. _I'm not Morgana_."

Arthur bristled immediately, not liking the fact that Merlin had called him on his thoughts that way—or wanting to speculate on whether or not Merlin had used something other than ordinary means to divine them. "I never said you were."

"You didn't have to." Merlin sighed. "Arthur, this won't work if you can't play along."

"Don't make this into a child's game," Arthur said immediately. "Not something as important as this."

Merlin snorted. "I wasn't. You of all people know how important it is to act the way people expect you to. I've seen you sit through meetings when you'd rather be hunting and greet delegates from kingdoms with whom Camelot's ties are more…strained. I'm not asking you to do anything you don't know how to do, Arthur. I'm not asking you to do anything you don't already do, nor something _I_ don't already do. I just asked for time so that I could help you to understand."

But he _did_ understand. He understood all too well. Merlin was a sorcer—_warlock_, he had magic and he _used_ magic, and he was more powerful than Morgana. And he was in Camelot, playing at being Arthur's manservant and Gaius's apprentice and laughing and grinning and playing the fool because that was what people _expected_ of him.

Who would look twice at a mere serving boy, after all? Especially one as clumsy as Merlin.

He'd built a mask, and everyone in Camelot—except for Gaius, Arthur supposed, and now him—believed it. No one ever thought to look beneath it because there didn't seem to be any need. How could there be a mask to look beneath in the first place? It was _Merlin_. Even if he wanted to, Merlin couldn't hide something. He was just too incompetent to manage it.

Even Morgana didn't dream that Merlin was concealing any real power. Even Morgana, whose nightmares had, Arthur now realized, offered her glimpses of the future…. Even _she_ couldn't see through Merlin's mask.

He managed it, Arthur decided, because he made it _so easy_ for everyone else to underestimate him. And if no one looked twice, they wouldn't see.

That was his problem.

For so long, it had slipped by him unnoticed. Or, at the very least, un_noted_. But as soon as he'd started _looking_, as soon as he'd tried to piece together incidents of obvious magic or extreme luck or things that just couldn't be explained to his satisfaction….

"Arthur, please."

He was taking too long to respond. But even though a thousand thoughts could flit through his mind in the space of a second, he kept getting caught up on the painful truth. "You could make me forget, couldn't you?"

Merlin blinked at him. "Sorry, what?"

"You could…." Arthur waved a hand. "I don't know, rob me of my memories. Make me forget what I know."

Merlin pulled a face. "Even if I _could_ do that, and I can't, I wouldn't."

"Why not?" Arthur shot back. "It would be easier for you. It would be easier for _me_." His voice cracked, and he allowed himself a second to regain his composure. "You wouldn't have to worry about me giving you away."

Merlin finally abandoned the bundle of washing in his arms, dropping it at his feet. "Arthur," he said again, "I meant what I said. Even if this isn't exactly the best way for you to find out, it's certainly not as bad as it could be, and I don't regret that you know. I…." He hesitated. "It was _hard_, keeping this from you. And I won't deny that it's hard now that you know the truth. But it's a _good_ kind of hard because it's something that we can work through."

Merlin wanted to keep him close. So he could keep protecting Arthur, could keep protecting Camelot. So they could salvage their friendship.

Hopefully not so that he would be in an ideal position to become a puppeteer, using Arthur himself as his unwitting mouthpiece.

How simple would it be for Merlin to rob him of his own free will and replace it with whatever _Merlin_ wanted him to do, with him being none the wiser?

He didn't want to ask that question.

He didn't want to risk hearing that that _was _something Merlin could do.

The idea was too unsettling.

"It won't matter in the end," Arthur said shortly. "I've had time to think about it, Merlin. I can't change the laws."

Merlin didn't blink, knowing all too well what Arthur was talking about. "Morgana?" he guessed.

Arthur closed his eyes, just briefly. "She's not alone," was all he said.

"Neither are you," Merlin reminded him. "And it's not like I'm expecting you to announce at a council meeting tomorrow that you're going to repeal all the bans. I'm not naïve enough to think that this is something that can be changed overnight, not with…." Merlin trailed off. "Not with everything that's in the past."

Not with all the innocent blood that's been spilled, from both magical attack and their own raids. Not with the tentative feeling of safety the ban accorded them—or at least the persons in the castle itself. Not with the threats that remained, Morgana most of all, who could well take any change as a sign of weakness and attack.

"Just…think about it some more," Merlin said carefully, bending to pick up the laundry. He seemed to know that Arthur didn't want to continue this conversation. "I'm not going anywhere."

That was one of the things Arthur was afraid of.

"I want those clean by tomorrow morning," he said instead.

Merlin flashed him his usual cheeky smile, and Arthur suddenly wondered whether Merlin would just…_magic_ his clothes clean somehow instead of actually washing them. Surely it was in his power. For all Arthur knew, he did it on a regular basis. "Of course, sire," Merlin said cheerfully. "I don't think these ought to be left any longer, anyway. The stench is worse than the stables."

Arthur's mouth opened, the retort on his tongue—but he couldn't say it. To Merlin, yes. He wouldn't think twice. But to the stranger who was the real Merlin? Arthur finally choked out, "I'll expect them back before breakfast," and pretended he didn't see the hurt look that flashed over Merlin's features.

"Of course, sire." This time, the words were spoken softly, with a stiff, clipped politeness that lacked Merlin's usual mocking tone. It reminded him a bit of George, to be honest. The words were devoid of Merlin's spirit, and when the manservant avoided Arthur's eye in favour of reaching to grab a stray stocking before heading out the door, Arthur wondered how well Merlin's spirit would hold up to this test.

He wondered how well their friendship would hold up to this test.

If they still had a friendship to begin with.

Arthur's trust had been the one thing Merlin had had for so long, longer than their actual friendship, in one sense, and now that Arthur suddenly found he couldn't give it….

He'd expected this to be hard. He hadn't thought…. He hadn't thought the list of things he'd rather do, rather be _required_ to do, would be quite so long. But this was how things were now, and if he didn't keep up the act—

He had to keep up the act. He couldn't let anyone see through it, not even Guinevere. For Merlin's sake, and for his own, and for all of Camelot. Because as Merlin had implied before he left, the time he had admitted to being Emrys, this illusion offered them a modest amount of protection. It was not just the uproar they would be facing when the truth about Merlin came out; it was that others were still fooled by the illusion. If he did not break that illusion for anyone else by announcing Merlin and if he allowed Merlin to stay in Camelot, there was a chance that Merlin would be able to help.

Arthur was not foolish enough to think that Merlin had not done the same before, or at least _tried_ to do it or _thought_ he'd done it, because there had been far too many lucky coincidences in the past to blindly assume that they were not the result of Merlin's hidden magic.

And perhaps it was best to keep potential enemies close. Now that he saw the real Merlin, he might be able to spot a change coming. He might not be completely blindsided like he had been with Morgana. He might be able to ensure Merlin stayed on the right path.

Arthur did not want Merlin as an enemy. He wanted him as a friend.

Perhaps Merlin was right and Arthur only needed time, only needed to hear the rest of the story to realize that he had nothing to worry about. To be as confident in Merlin as Gaius clearly was. On one hand, Arthur really wanted that to be the case.

At the same time, he was terrified of the possibility that, if he _did_ change his mind in Merlin's favour, it might not necessarily be wholly his decision to do so.

And he wouldn't know the difference.

And he knew he wouldn't be able to stop the whispers of doubt from creeping into his thoughts, not as things were now.

He should never have pushed this so far.


	3. Chapter 3

Even after all this time, Gwen was still trying to adjust to being a queen.

Some patterns had been easily—and happily—broken. Other habits had been harder to shake. But though Arthur had made a point of asking her, more than once, about getting a lady-in-waiting…. She didn't want to do that yet.

She had an assortment of maids to help her, of course. Some of her new dresses were rather difficult to put on without assistance, and it wouldn't do for visiting nobility to come across her scrubbing her own floors. She also simply wouldn't have all the time she needed to do all her own chores and still tend to her duties as Camelot's queen.

And there were a few things she certainly didn't miss having to do.

But she was not keen on the idea of playing favourites, and she didn't want to pick among the people who had been her equals and friends and promote any one of them to the position she had once held for Morgana. Eventually, perhaps, she'd give in to Arthur's pointed suggestions and bring in someone new for the position. But until then, she was quite capable of doing some things by herself.

It helped her keep her ear to the ground and be more aware of the needs of those around her.

That, unfortunately, hadn't proven fruitful when it came to gleaning what was _really_ on her husband's mind.

He was still pretending that he was searching for Emrys, though he'd admitted to her that he had found the elusive man at last. She had, wisely, kept his secret, and she'd thought it better not to pry and push Arthur to tell her any more than he was comfortable saying. But she didn't like being shut out.

She'd thought, perhaps, that someone else might have seen more in Arthur's actions than she. That someone else might have been more privy to what he had turned up in his search than she. Arthur was just trying to protect her, she knew. But he needn't protect her from everything. He had told her this much; surely it wouldn't mean much if he would tell her just a smidgeon more.

Besides, she wanted to thank this Emrys.

He'd helped them in the past, according to Arthur, and she was quite certain that Arthur didn't have that wrong.

If he _was_ the old sorcerer who had allowed himself to be caught in the act of 'enchanting' the two of them all those years ago, then she had even more to thank him for. After what Morgana had said to her during their last encounter, Gwen had little doubt who the real culprit was. If the sorcerer known as Dragoon _was_ Emrys, then he deserved to be thanked for his efforts many times over.

But she had a rather sneaking suspicion that Arthur hadn't done that yet.

He was still too tense, too unsettled and uncertain, for her to believe that he was happy with whatever arrangement he had reached with Emrys. On one hand, she was surprised that he had allowed Merlin time to leave to visit his mother now. If Arthur was going to confide in anyone besides her, she would have thought it to be Merlin. On the other hand, Arthur was rather stubborn when it came to things like these, and he knew Merlin's reactions to magic as well as she did. He never seemed entirely comfortable with the subject. Arthur might well suspect that Merlin could unwittingly give the real Emrys away.

He might think the same of her.

Guinevere paused for a moment outside the kitchens to compose herself. This was far from the first time she'd come down here, though her visits had grown less and less frequent as weeks had turned to months and months to years. She'd realized quite quickly that, for all that she had maintained friendships, a wall had been raised between her and everyone else. While she doubted people always guarded their words with her, she heard less than she once had, and no one acted as freely around her as they had in the past.

Her affairs were a bit more complex than simply managing a household, and there were few who still treated her as _Gwen_ instead of _Queen Guinevere_, despite her numerous requests.

But Merlin was one of those to whom she was still just Gwen, and he would see her request for what it was.

If he didn't tell her anything, she'd respect it. Whether his silence was because he didn't know or thought it best not to say, she trusted him. She was not asking Merlin in an attempt to go behind Arthur's back, and she was sure he'd see it that way, but if he had realized Emrys's identity along with Arthur, he might think it too risky for others to know.

Gwen was in and out of the kitchens in a matter of minutes, well acquainted with where to find everything. As a servant, she would never have dared to nick so much, but no one questioned her now, and it was easy to grab a small loaf of bread and a modest bunch of grapes.

Merlin could do with something more substantial after his journey, but it was better than nothing, and she suspected Gaius would already have gotten some food into him.

As she'd presumed, neither Merlin nor Gaius had yet retired, and both cheerfully bid her entrance. Merlin looked exhausted, and Gaius looked weary. But Merlin would be tired from his journey, and Gaius would have found these past few days as trying as she.

Arthur simply wasn't himself, and it was a strain to pretend that he was, for the sake of everyone else.

"I brought some food," Gwen said, smiling slightly. "I thought you'd need it, and I didn't want you to get into trouble for trying to swipe a snack." Some of the kitchen staff were quite testy when it came to that, and she and Elyan had had their hands—and hides—rapped far more than once in their youth for trying to sneak an extra scrap of bread on their visits to the castle when their father had been on business.

Merlin grinned at her and accepted them carefully, though he only pulled off a few grapes to eat now. "Thanks," he said, popping one in his mouth.

Gwen eyed him for a moment. "I hope you washed your own clothes and not just Arthur's. His could have waited."

Merlin shrugged. "They already have. I'm surprised George didn't have them pressed and neatly laid out for Arthur."

Gwen hesitated. "Arthur's not been…himself recently. He isn't letting anyone get too close to him. He gets his meals but little else."

Merlin smirked. "So you've been dressing him." It wasn't a question.

Despite herself—and despite the fact that Arthur was her husband and that Merlin had been among the first to know about their relationship—Gwen felt her cheeks warm, and she prayed that Merlin couldn't tell and was more thankful than she cared to admit that Gaius was pretending to read the book in front of him. "I've been tending to whatever needs doing," she answered, "that he'll allow me to. I'm the only one he lets freely into his chambers since you've gone." She bit her lip, aware that she should have asked about his journey earlier. "I trust you had a good visit?"

Merlin nodded. "My mother was glad to see me, especially once I told her I wasn't on the run." He flashed a quick smile at her. "And she sends her best to you. Says she trusts everything's working out well with you and Arthur, now that Arthur's through being a complete clotpole."

The words caused Gwen's lips to quirk into an answering smile. "Those her own words?"

Merlin just laughed and popped another grape into his mouth. "If you've ever the time, you should visit her," he said instead. "She'd like that."

"I'd be glad to," Gwen said sincerely. In the blackest days she'd yet faced, Hunith had welcomed her with open arms, and she'd always be grateful for that. "But I fear I shouldn't leave Arthur now. Merlin, he's…." She trailed off and glanced at Gaius, who had not looked up at them again. She appreciated the semblance of privacy, but she was quite aware that it was nothing more than a façade.

One part of her wished for Gaius to join their conversation, as she had little doubt he knew more about the situation than he let on even if she wasn't certain he knew as much as she. But another part of her…. If Gaius didn't know, Arthur would surely want as few people as possible to find out.

"Arthur's…preoccupied," she said carefully.

"I know," Merlin said easily, his tone telling her he thought nothing of it. "The search for Emrys. I'm surprised he hasn't given it up yet, but I think it's the only reason he let me go home to visit now." Merlin paused, then admitted, "Well, that, and something I'm assuming _you_ said to him about working me so hard before, since he brought up me going home first, and I doubt he would have otherwise. He never thinks of that sort of thing."

Merlin didn't know.

He didn't know that Arthur had found Emrys.

She doubted he could speak so blithely on the subject otherwise.

_She_ certainly found it difficult.

Gwen managed to muster up a smile. "Arthur's gotten worse since you left, I think," she said, although she knew full well that that was because Arthur had managed to _find_ Emrys and not because he'd turned nothing up and was becoming exceedingly desperate. "I was just…. You've seen him since you've been back. Do you think…?"

For a moment, Merlin looked more solemn than she'd seen him in a long time. The light in his eyes had dimmed and shadows cast by the flickering firelight made him seem older than he was. But the next moment, she decided she must have been imagining it. Merlin was tired from his journey, that was all.

"It's Arthur," was all Merlin said in the end. And when Gwen didn't immediately agree, he added, "He's probably just disappointed that he can't find what he's looking for."

Gwen knew what Merlin didn't say: that Arthur was used to things working out, to getting what he sought. Compared to the rest of them, he was unused to doing without. He'd certainly had fewer experiences where that had been the case.

"Yes, of course," Guinevere agreed, but she didn't believe her own words, and she rather suspected that Merlin, had he not looked to be asleep on his feet, would have noticed.

From the slight shift in Gaius's shoulders after he'd turned that last page, she was fairly certain he'd noticed.

And she didn't _like_ lying to them. They were her friends. They treated her as _Gwen_, and she valued that.

But Arthur had found Emrys, and they didn't know that, and she certainly didn't want to endanger the man. Not if he was protecting them all. And for all she knew, Arthur hadn't told Merlin for the same reason: because he was, for the moment, protecting Emrys. That was surely the reason he hadn't told anyone else, the reason he was continuing to search for someone he'd already found.

So Gwen did precisely as she had when Leon had first stopped her in the corridor for a private word, when Gwaine had cornered her the other morning, when Percival had stayed behind after his report and when Elyan had found her after his training session earlier today: she smiled, lied, found a way to change the subject, and tried to ignore the sick feeling that had settled in her gut.

* * *

"He's not back yet," Leon observed, though he sounded unsurprised by that finding.

Elyan groaned, knowing full well that it was too early to seriously worry. "Gwaine's fine. He's just drunk and having a good time. We should have gone with him."

"You've got patrol in the morning," Leon pointed out.

"Yes, that's why I'm here and not there," Elyan reminded him. He sat up in bed. "But I might as well be one of the ones to go get him again because I don't think I'm going to get much sleep."

"No, I'll go," Percival said. "I can carry him back myself if I have to. It won't be the first time I've done it." From his tone, Elyan knew Percival was perhaps the most worried about Gwaine of them all.

Typically, they had no real reason to worry about Gwaine, and the most they did was send someone out to see if he'd drunk himself into oblivion and needed to be dragged back to his quarters for the night. Assuming they didn't pick him up in the morning, at least. But most of the time, he held his liquor well enough that he could stagger back under his own power no matter how much he'd had. Not to mention that, more than half the time, his drunken swagger was nothing more than an act.

Gwaine played up that part of his character, hoping some of the newer knights—and any enemies of theirs who might have heard rumours—would make the grave mistake of underestimating him, of thinking his fondness for drink a weakness. And he was fond of it, no mistake, but he very rarely lost his head. He was more in control than he let most think. But even if Gwaine did stir up trouble at the tavern, purposefully or not, it was never anything lasting and was rarely something he could not talk himself out of—regardless of how much he'd already drunk.

But this time, they all had the feeling that something was wrong, somewhere—even Gwaine, which was one of the reasons he'd gone off to the tavern today. Trouble was, none of them could pinpoint the real root of the feeling, so everyone was on edge.

On the broader scale, it was this search for Emrys. They all knew that; they simply couldn't say _why_ or what about it was the real problem. Arthur had been at it with additional fervour these past few days, for all that he hadn't passed off all his duties to Gwen. Frankly, Elyan didn't think the king was getting much sleep, and from what he'd overheard the servants saying, neither was his sister. From what he'd seen of her, he was inclined to agree with them. She could hide it well enough, but he'd grown up with her. He knew what to look for, and he could spot the signs of tiredness—and of worry—in her face, especially around her eyes. If she wasn't busy being Queen Guinevere of Camelot, she was the worrying wife.

Arthur had told them all very little, but Elyan would bet his sword that he'd told Gwen more.

And from the way Gwen was acting, Elyan thought he could guess a bit of what that was.

This Emrys fellow, for instance, did not appear to be an enemy of the kingdom, yet Arthur was willing to expend a considerable amount of resources to track him down. Consequently, Elyan believed that Emrys had something of value, a talent from which Camelot could benefit. From the tales Gwen had told him, he fancied it being like the time Arthur and Merlin had set off in search of the last Dragonlord.

Only, there was no threat that he knew to be facing Camelot at the moment. There was the ever-present _possibility_ of threat from Morgana resurfacing or of another sorcerer similarly embittered from either Uther's reign or Arthur's own, but he had not been informed of anything specific.

None of them had, really. Not even when it came to Emrys. They weren't certain why they were looking for the man. They didn't know what he looked like. They weren't even entirely sure what Arthur planned to do once they found him. Throw him in the cells? Offer him some coveted position at court?

Don't harm him, they'd been told. Just try to find out everything you can. And _be careful_.

Hearing that from Arthur hadn't sat well with him. He knew he wasn't the only one who had just managed to bite back a 'Why?' upon that particular order. It wasn't that any of them were prone to questioning the king, even behind his back. It was that Arthur was usually content to assume the 'be careful' was implied, especially because none of them were strangers to danger.

And then there were the rumours.

He'd seen nothing himself. In truth, none of them had. But he'd caught the whispers.

Dragoon had turned up again. Elyan had met the man less than a handful of times, and only once face to face. He'd never heard the man's name from his own lips, but that was the name that was whispered whenever people spoke of the old sorcerer. The one foolish enough to be caught enchanting the prince and a mere servant—though Elyan believed that anyone who had thought Gwen to be merely anything had never seen her temper. But that same sorcerer had been clever enough to escape the pyre, had insulted the king and fled, managing to vanish despite half of Camelot coming out for his execution.

Dragoon had a flair for the dramatic. Elyan's last encounter with the sorcerer had only enforced that opinion. But at the same time, the sorcerer was sneaky. His age didn't seem to slow him down as much as it ought to. He could turn up or slip away with hardly anyone—if anyone at all—noticing.

And, apparently, it seemed he had done so again, and what worried Elyan most was the _timing_ of it all.

It was something which preyed upon the minds of the others as well. Why had Dragoon turned up again? And why _now_? What if there was some connection?

It wasn't something he really had the luxury of worrying about. He and Percival were to be off on patrol at dawn. They'd keep their eyes peeled for anything suspicious—and ears sharp to catch mentions of Morgana or Emrys or anything else that seemed noteworthy—but unless they came across Dragoon in the woods again or skulking along the borders, he wasn't so sure he'd be meeting the man any time soon.

That was perhaps just as well, since something about the old sorcerer unsettled him as much as this entire situation did.

The door to their shared quarters banged open, jarring Elyan from his thoughts. Gwaine was back—early, by his standards—and Percival hadn't even needed to leave to fetch him. Even from here, Elyan could smell the stench of spilt ale on him, but however much Gwaine had consumed, it clearly hadn't been enough to chase his worries away.

"It's not just Arthur," he said bluntly, no doubt seeing their looks. "Something's bothering Merlin. It might be the same thing. I don't know. I couldn't get it out of him." Gwaine slumped onto his bed. "I know Merlin can be tight-lipped when he wants to be, but sometimes…." He shook his head.

Leon finished the thought. "Sometimes he's more like Arthur than either of them would care to admit and seems to think he can solve all his problems on his own."

"His own and everyone else's," Gwaine muttered, yanking his boots off. "He's going to get in over his head one of these days, and I won't be able to help him if I don't find out he needs it until too late."

That was all too true, and each of the knights knew it. "It's not only Arthur and Merlin," Elyan found himself saying. "Something's bothering Gwen, too, the same as it's bothering all of us."

"Except I'd wager," Gwaine said, "that those three know what it is, and we don't."

"Arthur will tell us what we need to know when we need to know it," Leon pointed out, and if Elyan didn't know him as well as he did, he'd believe that Leon was convinced of his own words.

But he wasn't.

None of them were.

"When he does, we'll be there to help him," Percival said. "We always are. He can count on us. He knows that."

That was true; it always was the case. But it would be easier if they knew what was going on. For all that the four of them were known to be Arthur's most trusted knights, he didn't confide in them as often as one might think.

But then, it wasn't their place to be Arthur's confidants. The advice they could give if they were would be limited. So perhaps things were better this way. Maybe it wouldn't be easier if circumstances were different. If Elyan had learned anything in his time away from Camelot, it was that knowledge could sometimes land you in a lot of trouble.

A small part of him wondered—and worried—if this was indeed the case now.

Arthur always did put himself before everyone else, stepping into danger to protect them.

But if that were the case, he'd never tell Gwen. Merlin, maybe, if he was going to tell anyone, if only because Merlin was probably involved enough to learn it himself anyway. But surely not Gwen.

So perhaps she was as lost as the rest of them.

Elyan couldn't quite convince himself of that, though. He knew his sister, and she was worrying over something substantial, not something she couldn't quite name. But perhaps she didn't know the whole truth while the others did.

Still, even if that were the case, she'd never breathe a word to him. Not if this knowledge was dangerous in any fashion, because she would want to protect them, too. Just like Arthur would. Just like Merlin.

Just like him, really, though he wished he could say that the knights relied upon one another when push came to shove. And usually, he did. But the one time he'd really been put to the test, when the little boy who had been drowned during a raid had begun haunting him, he'd shut himself away and tried to deal with it himself.

It had failed miserably, and if it hadn't been for Arthur and Merlin, he wasn't sure he'd still be here. He didn't know precisely what had transpired back at the shrine, but he'd learned then the benefits of sharing one's problems. But he could still feel the cold fear, even now, of holding a terrible secret inside of him. A secret which had twisted inside of him, slowly consuming him, and the awful feeling of certainty that no one could help him even if he did share that knowledge. That it was better if he _did_ keep his silence.

He dearly hoped Gwen did not feel that way now, nor any of the others. But he was now thinking that perhaps they did. And if that were the case, then Gwaine was right: they wouldn't know the truth until it was too late.

* * *

"Sire." The word was spoken shakily, betraying the speaker's own fear. He was right to fear but wrong to show it, and he'd have to be punished for that.

"Speak," Sarrum allowed with a wave of his hand.

"We've searched for weeks," the man before him said, repeating things Sarrum already knew. "There is no sign of her, nor of the beast."

That was not the news he had wanted.

"Then look harder," he returned, "and longer. I want them back."

A slight hesitation, and then the fool opened his mouth again. "I am not sure we will be able to find them, sire. She has magic—"

"Find them!" Sarrum roared. The man—someone who clearly was not fit to be called a warrior of Amata any longer, however impressive his initial skill had seemed—flinched. "If you do not," he added darkly, "then you will take her place."

A sharp nod acknowledged his words, and the fool bowed low, wisely not opening his mouth.

He would find himself in the pit soon enough, Sarrum knew. The witch was gone, and the sorry beast as well, and he'd not capture them again without a grave mistake on her part—something he believed her too clever to make. But it wouldn't stop him from trying.

It was…unnerving, not knowing where his enemies lay.

The only satisfaction he had was that he knew her prime target to be Camelot, and he could benefit greatly from the havoc she wreaked.

It was, perhaps, not such a loss that she had escaped after all. He had always made great gains from the destruction of others, and this would be no different.

* * *

A/N: So, who thinks it just got more interesting? *grins* Thanks to everyone who takes the time to review! It's greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I've had a few more people who had been following _Intentions_ realize I've started posting this, so welcome back to all of you folks. As always, do feel free to let me know how you think this story is shaping up or share various speculations, critiques, what have you, as I appreciate anything of that sort.

* * *

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly, "you have to stop this." It was ridiculous, really. Arthur wasn't being Arthur. Anyone could see that.

From the gossip he'd overheard that morning, at least half the court already had.

Arthur wasn't fooling anyone, except perhaps for himself.

"Stop what?" Arthur hissed. "Looking for you, _Emrys_?"

Merlin sighed and reached to refill Arthur's goblet. He'd been like this all morning. He just hadn't been…himself. He hadn't thrown anything at Merlin when he'd gone to wake him up. He hadn't even made a snide remark about the state of his breakfast—something which, compared to what George had probably served him, would have looked particularly dismal. Arthur hadn't reacted. He'd just…ignored Merlin, really, as much as he could. He hadn't even _tried_ to banter with him. When he did address Merlin, it was with short, blunt orders, and he didn't respond at all to Merlin's teasing.

Arthur was taking his lunch in his chambers, alone. Again, apparently. He'd tried to send Merlin away, but of course Merlin wasn't going to have it. Clearly, the few days he'd been away had not been nearly long enough for Arthur to begin sorting things out. If anything, he'd gotten worse.

At least he'd listened to Merlin before.

As much as he'd ever listened to him.

Which, really, meant Arthur still didn't listen except when he thought it convenient to him, which was almost never, but _almost_ never was infinitely better than never.

"Stop acting like you don't know me," Merlin answered. "Stop acting like I've committed some heinous crime—"

"You have _magic_."

"Which _isn't_—" Merlin broke off, then amended, "All right, so it is, _here_, but—"

"It doesn't have to be," Arthur said dully. "So you've said."

"Well, yes, but it doesn't—"

"Change anything?" Arthur finished, fierceness creeping into his voice. "How can it not change anything, Merlin? It changes _everything_."

When Arthur didn't even say his name in his usual way, Merlin knew this was going to be even more difficult than he'd anticipated. Of course, Arthur always was difficult, but….

Merlin sighed. "It will only change everything if you let it. Let it change nothing for now, Arthur. Hear me out, and _then_ decide whether everything must change."

"Then _talk_," Arthur ground out. "Just start…. I don't know. Start at the beginning. I can't…." He shook his head. "I keep second guessing you, Merlin," he said bluntly. "I may have trusted you before, but I can't just trust_ magic_, and…." Arthur didn't finish.

He didn't need to.

"I didn't mean to kill your father," Merlin said, knowing it was one of the things that would really be bothering Arthur. He'd said it before—more than once—but never as himself. Never since Arthur had discovered who he was and what he'd done. "Morgana—"

Arthur laughed, a horrible, hollow laugh that didn't truly belong to him. "Of _course_ it was Morgana."

Merlin frowned, recognizing Arthur's tone and not particularly liking what it said about his thoughts. "Gaius can explain it better than I can, Arthur. But Morgana was clever, and she tricked me." He hesitated, then added, "I'm far from infallible. You know how many mistakes I've made. And I just never imagined something like that. When Morgana found out you were willing to do anything to help Uther, even using magic, she made sure that any healing spells would be reversed. That's why…" His voice caught. "That's why it seemed to work at first."

Arthur didn't say anything at first. Then, finally, "I'll speak with Gaius later." To be honest, Merlin didn't know whether Arthur wanted to check on the credibility of his story or whether he wanted a fuller explanation that still made sense.

A part of him didn't want to know the answer.

"Then in the meantime, please, just…just treat me like you always did." They would never get through this if Arthur didn't stop acting like Merlin was little more than a fixture in the room, something to be seen only in passing and rarely acknowledged.

On the whole, his safety had depended on his ability to remain invisible, to be discounted and overlooked, but this….

This hurt, far more than it ever had before.

Arthur was treating him as if he were a stranger. Not even that; Arthur was more polite to strangers. Arthur was treating him as _Uther_ had treated new servants. People who were less than him but important enough to make a point of not completely trusting. But that's who Merlin was to Arthur now: someone little better than a stranger who couldn't quite be trusted. Who hadn't proved he _could_ be trusted, as far as Arthur was concerned.

Trusted beyond being allowed to stay, at any rate. Merlin supposed he should be grateful for small mercies, but…. At this rate, he should have stayed in Ealdor a bit longer. Still, while his mother had been glad to see him, she had been worried even before he had launched into the tale of what had happened in Camelot in the past couple of weeks. And afterwards?

After hearing everything, especially Arthur's reaction, she'd thought it best if he go back but be prepared to leave at a moment's notice. Just in case. But at least here, he'd be able to see what was happening. And if worst came to worst, he could at least disappear on his own terms.

"Go help Gaius this afternoon," Arthur said. "I have no need of you."

It was an utter lie, and Merlin knew it. Worse still, it meant that if Arthur could discern how his behaviour towards Merlin had changed, he didn't feel strongly enough about changing it to even make the attempt. Sure, he was considerate enough to ensure that Merlin was out of his sight until dinnertime so that no one would question their strained relationship, but if Arthur had been his usual self, Merlin would have had a list of chores as long as his arm to take care of. Quite aside from tidying up the pigsty that was Arthur's chambers, he'd have to polish the knights' boots, sharpen Arthur's swords and polish his armour, walk Arthur's dogs, muck out the stables….

But Arthur probably wondered now how often Merlin had used magic so that he could finish all his work on time, and—knowing Arthur—the idea didn't sit well with him.

Merlin sincerely hoped time—more time, anyway—would ease that. For now, he could do little more than what he was already doing. He nodded once, said a redundant, "Yes, sire," replaced the pitcher on the table, and turned heel. Arthur just needed time. This would still all work out. In time, he would be able to look Merlin in the eye, would be able to stop himself from instinctively recoiling, would not need to think twice before relying wholeheartedly upon Merlin as he did his knights.

But in the meantime, there was this…wall between them, and Merlin wasn't sure how to break it down. Arthur didn't seem to want to try, and Merlin was afraid that if he pushed too hard, Arthur would snap. More specifically, he was afraid Arthur would change his mind and send him away.

Whether or not he would tell everyone else the real reason for that was something Merlin couldn't guess at the moment.

Merlin was on his way back to the chambers he shared with Gaius when he ran into Gwen. She gave him a hesitant smile and asked, "Did Arthur send you away?"

Merlin didn't particularly want to have this conversation, but he nodded anyway.

Gwen put a hand on his arm. "It's all right," she said. "It's not you." Actually, it was, but he didn't expect her to know that. "Arthur's just…. He won't even listen to me, Merlin. I thought, once you came back, you could do something to bring him to his senses, but…." She trailed off. "I'm going to try to talk to him again," she confided, "about Emrys. He can't keep searching forever. Maybe this time, I can make him see sense."

Arthur was, no doubt, waiting for an opportune time to call off the search. Merlin supposed he ought to be thankful Arthur had made the attempt to keep up the façade, especially since it seemed to be working. And if Arthur announced a cease in the search today, Gwaine would win the bet.

The smile Merlin offered Guinevere wasn't entirely faked. "Arthur see sense? We are talking about the same Arthur, aren't we?"

Gwen laughed. "I'll talk to him," she promised. "Just try not to take his mood personally, Merlin. He's not opening up to anyone right now."

No, he wasn't, and Merlin still wasn't sure whether or not he ought to be grateful. While Arthur might not have told anyone he was Emrys—which he was thankful for at the moment, considering how Arthur was taking the news—he also wasn't talking to Gaius or, really, to Merlin himself. Their conversations of late didn't have the feel that they should, the feel of two old friends bantering with each other.

But since Merlin knew the reason for that, he couldn't pretend that it was just because Arthur was so wrapped up in finding the mysterious Emrys, no matter how much he might want to.

"What's to take personally?" Merlin joked, though he didn't manage to keep his tone as light as he wanted to. Not when he knew that he truly was responsible for Arthur's current state of mind. "It's a bit of a relief, actually. Arthur would normally be trying to work me to the bone right now. This way, I might get some sleep tonight."

Gwen's smile was a small one, her expression carrying a trace of pity that Merlin suspected meant he hadn't entirely fooled her. "Things will get back to normal around here soon," she said reassuringly.

Merlin wished he could believe her, but he knew she was wrong. In this, Arthur was right. Things wouldn't ever be exactly the same again. They couldn't be. Things _had_ changed, just a little. In the future, more changes would come, and Merlin dearly hoped they'd be in his favour. But this semblance of normality….

It wasn't real.

Arthur, he was sure, would accuse him of being used to living a lie. The thought stung, but he couldn't exactly deny it. Not when so few people knew about the part of himself he tried to keep hidden. But things were so much more fragile now. If Arthur said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing, or even just kept acting the way he did….

Eventually, not everyone would write it off as him being preoccupied with this search for Emrys, and they'd realize Arthur just didn't act the same way around Merlin.

And then they'd wonder why.

"I hope so," Merlin said, despite knowing the impossibility of it. "I may not be dodging whatever Arthur's throwing at me, but this is almost worse." Then, because he knew Gwen would expect it, he added, "You're right. He's really not himself. But if anyone can get him to snap out of it, it'll be you. He won't listen to me when he's like this. He doesn't listen to me when he isn't. Even when—especially when—he should."

Gwen's lips thinned. "Perhaps I'd better talk to him now. Thank you, Merlin." And then she was gone, up the corridor and around a corner and out of sight.

Things wouldn't ever get back to normal, but Merlin hoped, for all their sakes, that they could pretend it could—pretend it would—for a little longer.

* * *

Gaius looked up as Merlin dragged himself into the room and plopped down on the bench opposite him, though he was mindful enough not to disrupt the books or herbs Gaius had spread out across the table. "Surely you're not through with everything already?" Merlin rarely made it back here for lunch. Usually, he had little time for anything more than a quick meal he'd nicked from the kitchens in between his chores.

Merlin, who was resting his head on his crossed arms on the table, didn't look up. Instead, he mumbled, "Arthur dismissed me until dinner. Told me to help you."

Ah.

Gaius knew what that meant quite as well as Merlin did. "He just needs time."

"He's had time."

"But perhaps not nearly enough. You've only been gone a few days, and Arthur has yet to stop and think. He hasn't paused. He's been protecting you, Merlin, by keeping up the façade of this search. You know that."

Merlin shifted so that his chin was resting on his hands. Hunched over as he was, Gaius doubted he was very comfortable. "I know I shouldn't push him," he acknowledged. Then, as Gaius had expected, he straightened up. "I just…. The way he _looks_ at me, like he doesn't even…."

"I fear Arthur does not yet see that you are still you, Merlin. Despite my assurances to the contrary, I believe he fears he knows you little better than he did Morgana."

Merlin groaned. "I'm _not_ Morgana. How many times do I have to tell him that?"

Gaius raised an eyebrow.

Merlin sighed. "I know, I know. It's Arthur. I just wish he'd trust me again."

"He just needs time," Gaius repeated, "and for you to be yourself around him."

"I hope so," Merlin muttered. Then, louder, "Gwen said she's going to talk to him. She figures she can get him to officially drop the search for Emrys later today or sometime tomorrow. I expect he'll listen to her, since he didn't intend to keep it up for much longer anyway."

Gaius watched his ward for a moment. "This will work out in the end, Merlin," he said quietly, "but you cannot expect things to change immediately."

"I don't," Merlin said. "I just…. I want some of the things that did change to change _back_. Arthur's a complete prat, but…."

"He is still your friend."

"It doesn't feel like it," Merlin mumbled. "I tried to be myself, to act the same as I used to, but he just didn't…. He can hardly look at me, Gaius, let alone _talk_ to me. How can we still be friends?"

"Arthur has done nothing to expose you further," Gaius pointed out, "nor has he taken action against you. What do you think is holding him back, if not your friendship?"

Merlin didn't answer him. Instead, he said, "I can finish preparing that infusion while you get a bite to eat." And before Gaius could open his mouth, Merlin added, "I grabbed some food off Arthur's plate. I'm not hungry."

It was a lie, Gaius was sure—at least it was this time—but he suspected Merlin wanted to be kept busy, so he allowed his ward to change the subject and trade places with him. There would be plenty of time for them to finish this conversation later. Arthur, after all, was not the only one struggling to adjust to the new circumstances in which they now found themselves.

* * *

Emrys.

She'd hardly set foot within Camelot's borders before she heard the name.

The speakers, of course, were sorely ignorant as to who Emrys truly was. She didn't need to reveal herself to be certain of that. But she had not needed to spend long in the marketplace to hear whispers of how the king was looking for a man named Emrys. Some swore he was a criminal. Some swore the opposite—that he had protected Camelot, not wronged her, and the king now sought him out to commend him.

She knew both charges were technically true, but she wasn't so sure that any of the speakers did.

"I don't think he exists," the woman next to her confided to the tanner's son, who was selling his father's wares.

"You think he's mistaken?" the boy asked.

The woman shook her head. "I think it's a diversion," she announced. "The king's planning something, mark my words."

She was surrounded by fools if they all thought Emrys was little more than a name. But fools were easier to trick and control. In time, they'd see the error of their ways. If they proved to be stubborn…. Well, then they'd simply realize how expendable they truly were.

She pushed past the gossiping woman, sweeping past the cooper and the cobbler and the other tradesmen until she came to the weaver. Bartering was something she'd always had a talent for; it was rare she lost an argument, and she had a way of getting what she wanted for what she was willing to give. Eventually, the weaver was content to trade a roughly woven cloak for a salve for joint pain, a tea to ease headaches, and a few of the other mishmash of herbal remedies she was carrying with her.

But the gossip she'd heard, the rumours that were flying about the king's search for Emrys, were worth far more than the covering she had attained.

Both were valuable, of course. The cloak was no different than what everyone else wore and no one would look twice at it, nor at the stooped figure beneath. But the rumours…. It was the rumours which solidified her course of action and ensured that she would put the cloak to good use.

She donned her new acquisition with a smile before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

* * *

At Guinevere's insistence, Arthur took his supper with her. He also made sure Merlin was out of the room immediately after delivering the food. Merlin protested, of course, but Gwen did not, which made Arthur wonder just how long he could keep this from her.

When she brought up the subject of his search for someone he had already found, he wondered if he'd last the week without cracking and telling her. Telling _someone_ who didn't know it all already.

But if it was this hard for him to process, he didn't want to put that weight on her shoulders. Not yet. Maybe…. Maybe, if he did change the laws on sorcery, or _begin_ to change them, as Merlin clearly wanted, then he'd tell her. If…if Merlin would let him. He didn't want an angry sorcerer on his hands.

He wasn't entirely sure what was worse at the moment: an angry sorcerer or a kingdom which did not believe in him. The latter would surely happen if he slipped up. If anyone suspected him of knowing more than he said, of being lenient where _sorcery_ was involved, of being an unfit king….

He was not his father, but if he did not seem to be his father's son….

It was perhaps best not to think of that at the moment.

"Arthur," Guinevere said after taking a sip of wine, "have you at least thanked him?"

There was no sense in pretending he didn't know what she was talking about. "No," he said. At her look, he hastily added, "Not yet."

"But you will."

He _should_, most likely, but will?

Arthur sighed. "In time," he said grudgingly. He wasn't ready to say that yet. He wouldn't entirely mean it yet. Perhaps Gwen suspected that, for she didn't press the subject.

"Will you thank him for me, then, if you'll not tell me who it is so I may do so myself?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stabbed at his venison. "I do not think he'd be happy if I revealed him to anyone else at present. Even to you. I suspect he'd rather do so himself if that is his intention."

"You needn't sound so bitter."

"It's…a complex matter," Arthur said. "You don't know all the details. You don't understand." He quickly took a bite of meat so he wouldn't have to explain himself.

The tactic didn't entirely work. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything," Gwen said frankly. "Perhaps I don't understand, and perhaps you cannot explain enough so that I will. But you've told me a little, Arthur, and surely that's enough to let me help you through this."

"Guinevere…."

"To be honest, I expected you to confide in Merlin," she confessed. "But either he's a far better actor than either of us ever realized or you've succeeded in keeping him in the dark as well."

It was painfully the former case, but Arthur couldn't admit that to Gwen.

"But since you aren't letting him help you, then I would hope that you'd let me," Gwen continued, her words making it clear to him that she completely dismissed the former possibility as easily as he once had. She reached out and caught his hand. "You don't have to do this alone. You shouldn't have to."

"You don't understand," Arthur repeated.

"Then help me to understand, even if it's only a tiny piece of the whole picture."

If Arthur had had any appetite when the food had arrived, it was gone now. "I don't know how."

"It's simpler than you think," Gwen said, giving him an encouraging smile. "You just need to tell me a few other things. How you discovered Emrys, perhaps, or why he finally revealed himself to you. If those are too close to the subject of who he is, then tell me why you've chosen not to reveal him. Tell me what you're going to do with this knowledge. Just tell me what you're thinking."

Most of Arthur's thoughts were still catching on _Merlin's a sorcerer!_, and he wasn't about to tell Gwen that.

"I thought it best if…." Arthur faltered, and Gwen squeezed his hand, letting him know that he could take all the time he needed and she'd always be willing to listen. "Given his past actions, I couldn't…. I don't want to just call him out. It hardly seems…."

"You didn't want to see him pay for his crimes as the laws demand," Gwen observed. He'd told her as much before, but the strength of which he felt that was evident in his actions. Or, more accurately, his _lack _of action. "Then why can you not thank him or at least thank him on my behalf?"

"I'm sure he knows how you feel," Arthur said, knowing Merlin was quite close enough to both of them to know how they felt. "But I simply…. You know my position. It is more precarious than yours. I can't just…."

"You're King Arthur of Camelot," Gwen countered. "You _can_."

Arthur shook his head. "Gwen, you know as well as I do that that's not true."

"You've broken conventions before."

"This is beyond _breaking conventions_. This is _sorcery_. _Magic_. In my own kingdom. There is not one person who has been left untouched by it."

He knew what she was hinting at, of course. It was the same thing Merlin had told him he could do. Except he _couldn't_.

Perhaps Guinevere felt Merlin's actions meant Emrys would never turn on them. He dearly hoped she was right. But even if he took a great risk and revealed what 'Emrys' had been doing for them to the knights and the councillors, if not the people at large, he may be hard pressed to prove that he wasn't just jumping to conclusions—or made to believe them by one enchantment or another. Not without producing the sorcerer in question, at which point—

Even proposing change wouldn't be easy, something Merlin clearly didn't appreciate and Gwen didn't seem to fully understand, despite her experience.

But changing the laws was really the only way to properly thank Merlin. To show that he meant it. So Merlin didn't have to hide any longer and so he could get the praise he really did deserve. So he didn't have the threats of death or banishment hanging over his head.

The threats Arthur might be forced to hand out if anyone else saw through the thin illusion he was struggling to maintain and their façade of normalcy shattered forever.

Guinevere squeezed his hand one last time before releasing it. "Just remember," she said quietly, "that not everyone touched by it has been harmed by it."


	5. Chapter 5

Today was the first day the dragon had flown any distance since their escape. The hobbling takeoff was not entirely a thing of the past, nor was the hard landing, but she had adjusted and was able to stay easily in the air. She could ride the air currents, glide relatively smoothly and execute hairpin turns or sudden drops without losing control and crashing. It wasn't as graceful a flight as befitted her, but she was still quick, silent, and deadly. It hardly seemed like any time at all before she'd returned with a deer she'd felled.

She let the dragon keep the entirety of her kill. The beast was weaker than she, having suffered greater pain, and she deserved more than just praise for her feat. She would need her strength for the tasks ahead of them.

They couldn't move quite yet. Everything was not in place—she'd had two years to plan, not two years to get everything in order—and she knew the dangers of acting in haste. She would bide her time and wait until they both had their strength up. Arthur's search for Emrys would come to naught, she knew. The man was not foolish enough to be caught by Camelot's ungrateful king. If he were so easy to uncover, she would have found him ages ago.

Her lack of success was not for lack of trying.

But _Arthur_'s lack of success…. It would not be so difficult to turn that in her favour.

If she was careful, she could lay the final pieces in place herself. This search of Arthur's…. It was as if he were playing right into her hands. She could give him just enough of the truth to trip him up, and while he was distracted, she could strike.

So perhaps she wouldn't be waiting much longer after all.

She picked the quail she was cooking off the spit. It was cooked far better than her first attempt had been so many years ago. She had learned much in her time away from Uther—and even more in her exile.

A bit of magic helped, too—especially considering how much work it was to get a meal out of the bird. Rabbits were at least worth the trouble cleaning took. But she was an excellent huntress; tracking down animals was an art at which she excelled, and she was far from unused to the harshness of the wilderness.

Some might say she'd become harsher and wilder herself, but the truth was that she had never been herself before. Before, she'd been denying who she truly was. Now, she was not. She'd found herself.

And she was stronger for that.

Even if her nightmares had come back with a vengeance, and not all of them offered only glimpses of the future.

"I'll lay the groundwork tomorrow," she promised as the dragon which, having blooded her kill and torn into its flesh, had raised her head to look at her companion. "You can rest here. I'll not fail in this." Her lips quirked into a smile. "Arthur will never suspect a thing."

* * *

Merlin ran into Gwen just outside Arthur's chambers. The guards remained banished to posts farther down the hall, which was just as well with Merlin. It meant any conversations with Arthur were less likely to be overheard. Besides, Arthur was jumpy enough that he was liable to take off the heads of any unexpected guests anyway.

"You did it," Merlin said, grinning. He'd meant to speak to Gwen before this but had never gotten the chance. If he wasn't running around doing what Arthur needed done but had forgotten to tell him (or anyone else) to do or doing Gaius's rounds, he'd inevitably been ensnared in conversation with gossiping castle staff. Arthur's announcement this morning was all the servants could talk about. Given his proximity to the king, people thought he might know more than the rest of them.

He did, of course, but he was more than used to pretending he didn't.

He'd caught Gwaine's eye, too, and knew he'd be happily collecting his winnings from the rest of the knights. Knowing Gwaine, that's what he was doing right now. If he hadn't already finished and was out celebrating at the tavern, since he wasn't on patrol tomorrow.

Gwen looked like she had to fight off a frown before she could return his smile. "He's still unsettled," she said delicately.

Merlin could translate that readily enough. "You want me to straighten things up in your chambers when I'm finished here, or—?"

Gwen was shaking her head. "I can do it myself. You look like you're being run off your feet."

"It's no trouble," Merlin said. It wasn't, really, but it would take time, time he didn't really have, and they both knew it.

Gwen's smile was genuine this time, if a bit small. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Merlin." She put a hand on his arm. "Just don't be too hard on yourself, all right?"

"Course not," Merlin said, a bit too brightly to be entirely believed. But that didn't matter, really. Gwen would assume that he'd be worried anyway and that, if Arthur's mood didn't improve, he _would_ take some of the blame for that on himself. Just like she did. Because, prat or not, they cared for him.

Because they were supposed to be friends.

"Merlin," Gwen started, "it's more than…." She trailed off, biting her lip. In the next moment, she'd snagged his wrist and was dragging him into her chambers. She barred the door behind them, and Merlin raised an eyebrow. Gwen flushed. "You can't tell anyone, all right?"

Merlin stared at her for a moment. How much had Arthur told her? It clearly wasn't everything—she wouldn't be poised to tell _him_ if it were everything—but she had to know something.

He supposed it meant a lot that she was willing to share something this important with him. Then again, when Gwen had found out about Morgana's magic, she'd told Gaius, and he'd known about her and Arthur. She'd told them both about the Stone of Æthelu.

He _meant_ to say something like, _"I won't breathe a word. I promise." _What came out of his mouth was, "Not even Gaius?"

Guinevere gave him a pained look. "Not even Gaius. Not yet. Please, Merlin. Do you swear it?"

"I swear," Merlin vowed.

He wouldn't tell Gaius.

But by all rights, Gaius already knew, so Merlin could still talk about this _with_ him without breaking his oath to Gwen.

Unless she happened to say something he didn't already know, which was really quite doubtful at this point.

Gwen was fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, no doubt feeling a need to keep her hands busy as she often did when she was worried—and nervous. "Arthur found Emrys," Gwen blurted out. "I don't know how. It might have been the other way around. But he knows who he is. Where he is. He hasn't breathed a word to anyone else, Merlin. I'm lucky he told me as much as he did, and I thought he would have told you, too. He doesn't…."

"He doesn't always tell you everything," Merlin finished quietly, "because he doesn't want to worry you."

Gwen nodded. "I really shouldn't be telling you if he hasn't, Merlin, but…but I have to talk to someone, and Arthur—" She broke off, shaking her head. "I feel like I'd be better able to help Arthur through this if he'd just tell me who Emrys is so that I can talk to the man myself."

His life was full of secrets and irony. "Gwen, you don't know that that would help."

"Maybe not," she allowed, "but the very least I could do is thank him. I…I was going to ask you earlier, Merlin, if you knew who he was so I could do just that, but then I realized you didn't know, and…."

"Gwen," Merlin said. He reached out to rescue her sleeve. She'd picked out a thread and was beginning to pull out the seam. She was a good seamstress, and he was sure that someone else would be fixing up her dress anyway, but that wasn't the point. "I'm sure Emrys knows."

Gwen sighed. "Arthur said much the same. But it doesn't matter if he already knows; the point is that we should still say it." She gave him a wry smile. "Knowing you've done a good job and that it's appreciated is quite different from hearing it, isn't it?"

Merlin thought about how many times Arthur had ever told him he'd done well.

He imagined Gwen had heard it from Morgana a good deal more often, however rarely that would have been.

"Suppose so," Merlin agreed.

Deprived now of her sleeve, Gwen began knitting her fingers together. "Arthur found him before you even left," she confided, resuming her tale. "He's been keeping up this pretence in an effort to protect Emrys, but I fear…." She bit her lip again. "The truth weighs on him," she said quietly. "He won't speak of it to me, but I thought, now that you're back, he might confide in you."

"I doubt that," Merlin muttered, thinking the last thing Arthur wanted to do was to talk to him.

"Just…tell him you've figured out what he's up to," Gwen said. Merlin raised his eyebrows; it wasn't often he heard her encouraging someone to lie when it wasn't a matter of life or death. "I rather thought you might have already," she said defensively, "but if you don't think he'll believe you, then go ahead and tell him that I told you. It might bring him to his senses. If there's anyone he trusts besides me, it's you."

The words were painful to hear—most likely because Merlin wished they were still true, and he knew they weren't.

He wondered how long it would take for observant people like Gwen, who knew both of them well, to realize Arthur's trust in him was a thing of the past.

He also wondered how long it would take Gwen and everyone else to realize precisely _why_ that was.

"Arthur doesn't trust anyone with matters of magic," Merlin finally forced out. "Maybe Gaius, but…." He shrugged. "He certainly doesn't think I can keep a secret." That wasn't _quite_ true, but Merlin had shamelessly let slip some of Arthur's more embarrassing secrets to the knights on more than one occasion, and Arthur had not forgotten a single instance.

"But you can," Gwen said. The conviction in her voice made Merlin's heart freeze until he remembered there was no way she knew the truth. Not yet. "I know you can. You're much better at it than Arthur gives you credit for."

"I'm much better at a lot of things than Arthur gives me credit for," Merlin returned, the words rolling more easily off his tongue now. "And I won't tell anyone, Gwen, I promise, but I don't think my knowing will make things any easier on Arthur."

Gwen's broad smile made it clear that she didn't believe that for a moment. "I'm sure he'll tell you more than he's telling me," she said, "once he knows that you know. Arthur relies on the people around him, and you've been closer to him for longer than I. If he's going to talk to anyone, it'll be you."

Merlin really wished that had never changed.

A week ago, that had been perfectly true. Arthur had used him as a (sometimes rather ineffective) sounding board. He'd kept Merlin up-to-date, telling him things he had yet to tell anyone else—even Gwen, for she certainly wasn't wrong about Arthur keeping things from her. He'd complained freely. He'd lain out his theories. As per usual, he'd dismissed Merlin's opinions and observances.

But the familiarity of the past—friendly banter, teasing remarks, the lot—was conspicuously absent now.

Arthur clearly felt uncomfortable around him, and Merlin couldn't figure out how to change that.

Talking wouldn't work if Arthur wouldn't listen.

"You do realize this is the same Arthur who spent a good chunk of the last week holed up in his chambers, not talking to anyone, right?"

Gwen laughed. "Just…see if he'll say something to you. I'm not asking you to repeat it to me. I'd thought about it, but I can't. I don't wish to betray Arthur's trust any more than I already have. But, Merlin, if Arthur does tell you who Emrys is…."

"Yes?" Merlin prompted.

"Thank him for me, will you?"

Merlin smiled. "Consider it done."

* * *

"I can't believe you won," Elyan complained, handing over a part of his pay to Gwaine with obvious reluctance. Considering he and Percival had only just heard the news, it was understandable that Elyan would find it all the more unbelievable. He hadn't heard what Arthur had said.

Besides, since he and Percival had had their patrol cut short, Leon couldn't really fault his good-natured complaints. The knights who had ridden out to bring them the news had gone to replace them, as Arthur had requested—privately, of course—that they remain at the castle for the time being. And they all knew that meant the king suspected trouble in one form or another and he wanted the people he trusted most close to him.

It wasn't that he didn't trust the other knights quite so much; it was more that they'd been through more together and they understood each other better and could work as a team more effectively and efficiently than they could with some of the others.

Particularly with the greenest knights who still lacked battle experience, who had been the replacements.

"You shouldn't have gambled if you didn't want to risk losing," Leon pointed out. He wasn't entirely surprised, however. Gwaine had a knack for winning bets—even when he didn't cheat.

"Better luck next time," Gwaine said, pocketing his winnings with a flourish. Then, catching sight of the largest member of their group, he called out, "Oi! Percival!" and began making his way towards his old friend to collect his due.

Truthfully, Leon still wasn't sure _why _Gwaine had won. While he suspected Guinevere—who had begun to look increasingly harried herself over the last little while—had talked to Arthur, he hadn't thought that Arthur would listen in this regard. Arthur was stubborn, and Leon had never known him to give up on something.

Not until now.

Leon had known Arthur longer than any of the other knights, but even he couldn't profess to know Arthur _well_. Not well enough to know what Arthur was really thinking, at least. If anyone would be able to accurately guess the king's thoughts, it would be Merlin or Gwen.

Considering all three seemed a bit more uneasy than usual, he was certain that something had happened. Arthur wasn't just calling off the search for Emrys because he felt he would never find the man. There was some other reason that he had decided against sharing with the general public. Leon could respect Arthur's judgement; he certainly did not need to know everything that went on in the kingdom, not like the king himself did, and sometimes not knowing was better.

But that didn't mean he wasn't curious, even if he had enough respect for Arthur not to press the subject.

It could be that Arthur was wary of another kingdom preparing to take advantage of Camelot's strained resources. It could a tactical move, with Arthur betting he would have better luck searching if he appeared to give up looking in the first place—in hopes of catching this Emrys unaware, if nothing else. The entire search could have been a diversion for something else.

Or perhaps Arthur had managed to find what—who—he was looking for after all.

With rumours of another sighting of Dragoon, Leon couldn't help but speculate that the old sorcerer they could never find would have the information the king sought.

Leon wasn't sure what the price of that information would have been, but perhaps this was it: the end of the search, at least as far as appearances were concerned.

However, he wasn't about to ask. Not while everything still appeared to be under control. If Arthur decided to confide in him—in _any_ of them—then he would happily hear him out and do his utmost to help. Until then….

Until then, he'd do what he always did. He'd wait. He'd train and prepare. He'd be ready to protect Camelot at a moment's notice.

Seeing as he was lucky to get even that, he always had to be ready.

He just hoped the threat, assuming Arthur had uncovered one, wasn't brewing inside their borders again.

* * *

Arthur was trying to figure out if he was moving too quickly or not quickly enough.

He could count the people who knew—or at least suspected—the truth about Emrys on one hand.

But there were only three people who knew the truth about _Merlin_, and he desperately needed to keep it that way. For all of their sakes. Merlin was…. Merlin was Merlin. He was practically a staple of castle life. To rip him away would leave an ill-concealed wound, and they'd be more vulnerable to attack. No matter how they steeled themselves, they'd be harder pressed to withstand a long fight without sustaining greater injuries.

A few seconds of distraction were too much, and emotional heartache could only be put off for so long.

He wasn't expecting any attack, of course. No more than usual. It was just…. This situation had him on edge. However he tried to ignore it, however determinedly he pushed it out of his mind, however long it was blessedly _gone_, it always came back with a vengeance.

He would rather it not hit him in full when his attention needed to be otherwise occupied.

The logical solution, of course, would be to do what was necessary to alleviate Merlin's need to hide. But Arthur still wasn't sure he _could_. Perhaps…. All right, perhaps Merlin was the exception to the rule, but sometimes it was better to sacrifice the one to save the many.

And yet sometimes it only took the one to save the many.

Arthur had no doubt Merlin was a better authority on magic than he'd ever let on, so the observances he had let slip wouldn't be unfounded. But that didn't mean they weren't biased. Of course Merlin would support him doing away with Camelot's laws against sorcery. He was a sorcerer. Warlock. _Magic-user_.

But the more Arthur thought about it, the less he could deny Merlin's value.

It seemed callous to think it, but it was true.

That didn't make Merlin seem any less like Merlin, though, when he thought of it like that.

Arthur's teeth clenched. He was torn between protecting a friend and upholding the law where a stranger was concerned, and he was finding it very hard not to let his emotions interfere with his judgement.

He also couldn't help but remember that he no longer could be confident that all of his knowledge on the subject was true, which only made everything worse.

But if he _did_ throw caution to the wind, if he _did_ trust Merlin…. What if everything became indescribably worse? What if Merlin was wrong—and Arthur knew Merlin well enough to know that he could very well be wrong, for that certainly wouldn't have changed—and the laws _did_ protect Camelot more than they invited harm?

Merlin might be the powerful sor—_warlock_—Emrys, but unless Merlin regaled him with tales of his ingenious strategy (which would take a fair bit of convincing on Merlin's part for Arthur to believe that of him), Arthur couldn't be confident that he'd be able to help them withstand an attack from multiple fronts.

He'd certainly be hard pressed to do that if he was still trying to keep his magic a secret, but if he _wasn't_ trying to keep it a secret, then Arthur would have to deal with the turning tides within. The fallout from such an announcement….

It was the same thing he could face if he tried to change the law without due reason.

It could destroy either of them as surely as a sorcerer's spell.

This wasn't easy. He knew that. He'd never expected it to be easy. Well, he'd never expected it in the first place, but now that he knew, he knew better than to think anything that came from here on out would be easy. This wasn't a bard's tale where everything would work out at just the last moment against all odds. _Bad_ always came with _good_.

His mixed feelings about this entire situation were proof enough of that point.

The knock at the door jarred Arthur from his thoughts. When the door opened before he'd given leave to enter, he knew who it was.

"I don't wish to speak with you, Merlin," he said, fixing his gaze on the parchment in front of him. It was the agenda for the council meeting tomorrow—and what was really meant to be occupying his attention instead of this other matter.

A beat of silence, then a weak, "I know. But I…. I brought you this."

Arthur looked up, and Merlin carefully laid an amulet in front of him. Arthur glanced at it, then up at Merlin again, wished he'd never looked at his manservant, and went back to studying the amulet. It looked…almost familiar. "What is it?"

Silence again—though Arthur could have sworn he'd heard Merlin swallow. Finally, "Morgana's last gift to your father."

_No._ "I don't want to talk about this."

"It's how Morgana ensured the healing magic would be reversed."

He _really_ didn't want to talk about this. "Take it away, Merlin."

Merlin, at least, was obedient enough to scoop the amulet up and out of his sight. Arthur forced himself to meet Merlin's gaze, and Merlin said, "You should still talk with Gaius, Arthur, but it's…. It's the only thing I can offer you as proof that I'm not…. That I didn't mean it. Since my word's no longer enough."

The words stung, more so because they were true than anything else, and Arthur felt terrible that he'd forced Merlin to admit them. "We can discuss this at a later time."

Merlin didn't take the hint, for all that it had been as subtle as the troll in the castle had been to the unenchanted eye. "We can't put it off forever, Arthur. We need to talk."

"We can talk later," Arthur ground out. "You're dismissed, Merlin."

But Merlin, being the idiot he was, held his ground. "I'm not just asking for myself, Arthur. I'm asking for _you_. Because you need to talk to someone." He paused, then added, "Gwen told me the big secret, you know. Because she thought you were too pigheaded to tell me yourself, too worried about worrying _her_ to tell her any more, and too much of a prat to realize that you need to talk to someone."

The news about Guinevere somehow didn't wholly surprise him.

Perhaps it might feel more like a betrayal if she hadn't managed to tell someone who already knew the truth, but as it was….

As it was, it was a painful reminder that Merlin _was_ his usual confidant, and he _was_ struggling to sort through this without him.

How Gwen seemed to know what he needed better than he did himself, he'd never know.

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. "Just give me the night to think, Merlin. I'll speak with you in the morning, if only to appease Guinevere. I don't need her asking more questions."

"Arthur, you've had days."

Arthur wrenched his gaze up to look at Merlin again. "You've had _years_," he shot back. Merlin flinched, and Arthur made an effort to rein in his temper. In a tight, controlled voice, he said, "Bring a bit more food with you than you usually do, and you can break your fast with me. That should give you plenty of time to talk."

"Arthur—"

It was, no doubt, the same protest worded a different way—or perhaps a pointed remark about how they _both_ needed to talk, since their communication had been stilted at best as of late. But Arthur was in no mood to hear whatever Merlin was going to say, so he cut across the words with a short, "You're dismissed."

Merlin stood there for a moment longer, looking at him, and just when Arthur thought he'd try protesting again, he said, "Yes, sire," and walked out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur still wasn't ready for Merlin when he entered the next morning, carefully setting the larger-than-normal breakfast (coming from Merlin, anyway, if not George) upon the table. Oh, he was awake and rather crudely dressed, for he'd spent half the night pacing his chambers again, but that didn't mean he was ready to face his magic-wielding manservant.

"Your tunic's on inside out," Merlin said as he picked up a small loaf of bread from Arthur's plate.

Arthur rolled his eyes but yanked the offending piece of clothing off and set about turning it the right way out. "Happy?" he asked once he'd struggled into it again.

Merlin shrugged. "You still look silly, but you can't really change your face, now can you?"

Arthur scowled and pointed at the chest at the foot of his bed. "Sit," he growled, unsure of what bothered him more—the achingly familiar but completely uncalled for barb from Merlin or the disturbing knowledge that _he_ could change _his_ face.

Merlin sat, nibbling on the corner of his bread as he did. Arthur snatched something off his plate and turned his chair to face Merlin before sitting down himself. "Now talk," Arthur commanded.

"I'm not one of your dogs," Merlin complained. "It wouldn't kill you to treat me a _bit_ better, you know."

For a split second, Arthur found himself trying to figure out if Merlin had buried a threat in that last statement.

Then he realized what he was doing and forced himself to remember that this wasn't just any sorcerer sitting across from him, it was _Merlin_. Merlin, arguably, had had much better opportunities to kill him and subsequently overtake or destroy Camelot. Since he seemed to devote so much effort (if Arthur could say Merlin put effort into anything besides keeping such a large part of himself a secret) to _protecting_ it, assuming Merlin and Gaius could be believed, then Arthur really shouldn't fear him.

Logically, he knew it.

But logic was having a hard time standing up to the part of him that still quailed at the thought of _sorcery_. Particularly _powerful_ sorcery.

But this was just Merlin, and he needed to remember that.

Merlin hadn't turned against him yet.

At the moment, his loyalties still lay with Arthur.

And Arthur needed to make sure that didn't change.

He'd never have a hope of standing up against both Morgana _and_ Merlin. Even if they didn't stand united, he doubted he'd have much success fighting them separately. Especially when both knew him and Camelot so very well, enabling them to anticipate his actions and stripping him of the advantage of knowing the ground better than his opponent.

"Just…." Arthur closed his eyes. "Just tell me why you think this will work."

"Why I think what will work?"

Arthur opened his eyes to glare at Merlin. "Any of this. All of it. You staying here. Keeping your _magic_ a secret. Me hearing everything you have to say as if knowing everything you've kept from me all these years means it doesn't matter that I didn't know then because I know now. As if convincing me to go against my father's wishes, against everything I was taught—"

"Arthur," Merlin interrupted, "you said you needed to know what was going on. You said you needed to understand what goes on in your kingdom. Even in Camelot, magic is here. And you don't understand it. That's why you fear it. But you don't _need_ to, and I can help you so you don't. You just have to trust me."

"But that's just it," Arthur argued. "I _can't_." They'd been through this already.

Merlin, apparently, wasn't happy with the verdict. "I know you don't trust anything to do with magic," he said softly, "and I know you don't trust me any more, but you did once. I'm asking you to do it again. If you don't…."

Merlin didn't finish, but he didn't need to. Arthur knew the implications. If he couldn't bring himself to trust Merlin, he'd have to act against him. This truce they'd drawn had done nothing to change that. It had merely extended the time he had to make a decision. But since Merlin wasn't going to take a stand against him, the decision rested with Arthur alone.

It was no easier to make now than it had been the last time he'd faced it.

But he didn't shy away from things simply because they weren't easy.

"Do you have a plan, then?" Arthur asked, desperate to buy a bit more time but controlled enough that none of that desperation showed in his voice.

In his eyes, perhaps, but not his voice. If it did, Merlin wisely chose not to comment upon it.

"Not a plan, exactly," Merlin admitted. "But if you started dropping hints about change—testing the waters, if you will—then that ought to clear the way for change in the future."

"And what of Morgana? No one will wish to clear the way for acceptance of her."

"Morgana has abused her power," Merlin replied quietly. "She has twisted it for her own purposes as surely as her own fear and sense of revenge have twisted her. Her magic has been ill-used, and her crimes would still stand even if magic does become accepted here."

"She'd argue."

"She'd lose," Merlin said bluntly. "You know as well as I that Morgana would not waste her breath arguing. She would fight, and I would make sure she would lose."

There was something in Merlin's tone that truly unsettled Arthur, and he realized it was the cold assurance in Merlin's voice. The confidence. The power.

The reminder that Merlin, despite all appearances, was not someone to make an enemy of.

"Besides," Merlin added, his voice losing its alarming note, "acceptance here could be different than acceptance in other kingdoms. You don't need to ignore magic and its users, just letting them be. You can encourage them. Get them to help. A little bit of magic in every day use can do much more good than harm, and people can pitch in in whatever way they're best at if you take the time to get to know them and make sure they know their efforts are not unappreciated."

Arthur wasn't a fool. He knew what Merlin was hinting at. Magic could be used to heal. It could be used to coax the crops along during a drought or save a home from being consumed by flames. It could be used to make little tasks more efficient, aiding in scouring floors or starting fires.

But what worried Arthur most about all of that was the cost.

Magic seemed to exist with a sort of balance. When Morgana had torn open the veil and released the Dorocha, it had cost Lancelot his life to correct it. While small acts of magic might go unnoticed in the larger scheme of things, anything substantial would carry a price, and not all might be taken at the time of the spell's casting or be paid by the caster.

He'd endangered his people before in his ignorance—more than just the time he'd slain a unicorn if Merlin was to be believed—and he had no wish to do so again.

"But you also," Merlin continued, blithely unaware of Arthur's tumultuous thoughts, "don't need to call them to you, amassing an army of sorcerers or anything like that. Some people think that having the most powerful sorcerers on their side means that they are untouchable. That no one will argue with them because they'll be next to invincible. But they're wrong, Arthur. Greed, fear…. Magic shouldn't be used that way. It's not meant to make someone powerful or keep them that way. It's meant to help."

Arthur grunted. "I'm not the only one who needs to be convinced of that."

Merlin grinned. "No, but if you can finally see the truth of it, no one else matters."

_Yes, they do. They _all_ do._ But Merlin really should know that. Arthur was always trying to do what was best for the people and trying to keep their opinions in mind. He still had to make whichever decision was best for the kingdom—he always did—even if that decision did not appear, on the surface, to be wholly fair.

Like now.

"Merlin—"

Merlin must have been able to read his tone, because he quickly cut across Arthur's words, saying, "I'm not asking you to walk into a council meeting and announce that you're repealing everything you've spent your life upholding. I just…. You're not your father, Arthur, and if change _is_ going to come under your reign, it'll be smoother if you, well, show people that you're open to this. Give them some time to get used to the idea."

Arthur knew what Merlin was, for once, polite enough not to say: _It's taking you long enough._ And he couldn't exactly deny that. He still _wasn't_ used to the idea. He still wasn't entirely sure what Morgana was up to, and that worried him. Yes, he'd heard rumours. They'd all heard rumours. But some of those rumours were conflicting, and he hadn't been able to verify or dismiss all of them.

And he couldn't pretend he was comfortable with anything that could be seen as even remotely supporting Morgana when he knew the vision she held for Camelot and how much his kingdom would suffer under her rule.

"I can't make you any promises, Merlin," Arthur said, and he was forced to watch some of the hope fade from Merlin's face at his words.

His manservant, however, nodded. "I know," he admitted. "You'll reach your own decision, and you'll do what's best. I know you will." He offered Arthur a rather weak smile. "I trust you, even if you can no longer trust me."

Arthur sucked in a quick breath. Merlin couldn't have any concept of how much those words hurt him.

Why did they have to be true?

Arthur exhaled slowly and nodded once, sharply. Gesturing at Merlin's bread, he said, "Finish that before you start anything else. I don't need to find crumbs in my bed tonight, and I don't need you to keel over because you haven't been eating enough again." He still remembered the first time that had happened, years and years ago. It had been after one of Merlin's unannounced disappearances that had lasted longer than day—what he had then assumed was prompted by Merlin's idiocy or tendency to frequent the tavern—and Arthur, seeing only a lazy, disobedient servant, had thrown Merlin in the stocks for the day and then set him more chores than he could possibly accomplish.

For a week.

By the end of the third day, even he had been able to tell that Merlin was off his game. He was obviously tired. He was as quick and thorough as usual, though, which meant Arthur hadn't been sure he wasn't just dragging his feet, since a bit of sloppy polishing or slow service wasn't unheard of from his manservant. It was only once he'd collapsed and Gaius had given Arthur an earful (in private, thankfully) that Arthur had realized just how hard he'd pushed Merlin.

He'd pushed Merlin since, of course. It was Merlin. He had to be pushed. But Arthur had made a point of never pushing Merlin beyond his limits again.

Now that Arthur thought about it, though, Merlin couldn't have been using magic to help with all his chores even if he had cheated and used it to help with a few. He wouldn't have been so utterly exhausted, skipping meals and getting little if any sleep, if that had been the case. If he had been using magic, he could have finished his chores much more easily. In all probability, it had simply been too dangerous for Merlin to risk using magic where it might have been discovered and reported immediately to Uther.

The thought of what might have happened made Arthur feel sick.

The thought of what might still happen—what _should_ still happen—if anyone else discovered Merlin made him feel even worse.

But Merlin's smile was stronger this time, and he seemed blissfully unaware of Arthur's thoughts and simply grateful that Arthur had tried to treat him as he always had before. "Yes, sire," he said cheerfully, taking a large bite of bread.

Arthur had no appetite, but he forced down a few bites himself. He'd need his strength today. "You can clear this away once you're finished," he said, waving at his plate. "I need to speak with Guinevere."

Merlin bobbed his head and choked out another, "Yes, sire," around his bread. Before Arthur was quite out the door, he saw Merlin reaching for an abandoned sausage, and he thought it just as well. Better him than the pigs, or whatever happened to the food he didn't eat.

Besides, Merlin's hunger just made him seem more…real, and Arthur was grateful for that.

* * *

Gwaine finally caught Merlin alone when Merlin had gone to the armoury to fetch Arthur's secondary swords for sharpening and polishing. In Gwaine's opinion, he looked marginally more cheerful than he had the past couple of days, but he was sure something was wrong and he was determined to find out what it was.

He was Merlin's friend. Even if he couldn't help, he could listen and promise to keep things a secret, just as Merlin did for him.

"Arthur after you again to do his dirty work?" Gwaine asked as he grabbed the hilt of one of the swords in Merlin's arms before the boy could trip and impale himself.

Merlin shifted his load and shrugged. "Just the usual." He grinned. "You haven't spent all your winnings, have you?"

"You care to join me as I try?"

Merlin shook his head. "I've still got some catching up to do. Apparently, Arthur didn't let George do everything while I was away, so I've got the usual list that's longer than my arm of things to get through. He seemed to think I would miss it or something."

Merlin moved to leave—their middle-of-the-day conversations rarely lasted long when each of them had various duties to complete, and Gwaine figured Merlin would have to come back for more than just the sword he was holding—but Gwaine caught his arm. "Merlin, your mother is doing well, isn't she?"

Merlin frowned, clearly confused about the cause for Gwaine's concern. "Of course. I told you that already."

"And what about you?"

"I'm fine," Merlin replied immediately. "Why?"

"Because you haven't been acting fine," Gwaine pointed out. At Merlin's expression, he added, "Merlin, I can tell. I've known you for years. You aren't that good of an actor. Something's happened."

"It really hasn't—"

"Merlin," Gwaine repeated. "Since you got back, you and Arthur…. You two just haven't been yourselves. You can't fool your friends. If it isn't something that happened in Ealdor that Arthur won't let you go back to, then something's happened here. Let _me_ help, if not everyone else. You know I'll keep secrets for you if I have to. Just like you've kept mine."

Merlin sighed. "I know," he said. "But it's not really anything at all. Just Arthur being Arthur."

"And taking it out on you?"

Merlin grinned. "Like I said, Arthur's just being Arthur." He shrugged. "He might have officially dropped the search, but he hasn't forgotten about it."

Gwaine searched Merlin's face, sure there was more to the story. Arthur's frustration most likely _was_ part of it, but Merlin had looked…. He hadn't quite looked _himself_ even after being away from Arthur's demands, which certainly wasn't what Gwaine had expected after a visit home.

But unfortunately, Gwaine was fairly sure that if Merlin didn't want to tell him, he'd never find out, no matter how much prying he did.

Still, he wasn't one to stop without trying. "And what else is on your mind _besides_ Arthur being a prat?"

Merlin laughed. "Nothing," he assured Gwaine, shifting his load to balance it across one arm so he could use the other to retrieve the sword Gwaine still held. "Really. And Gwen's been talking to Arthur, so I doubt this'll last long. She managed to convince Arthur to let me go back to Ealdor for a bit, so I'm sure she'll get through to him again."

Merlin meant for this to be the end of their conversation, and Gwaine knew it. "You know you can tell me anything," he said.

Merlin's grin returned. "And drag you anywhere," he agreed, and Gwaine knew he was thinking of the time they'd ended up chasing after Arthur on his quest. "I know I can count on you if I need anything. I'll let you know if Gwen's not successful."

Merlin counted on him more if he needed something _for Arthur_. To Gwaine's knowledge, Merlin had asked for help of others for his _village_, for his _king_, but never for _himself_. He suspected Merlin confided in Gaius, but for all that Gwaine was sure they counted each other as good friends, Merlin had never truly confided in him. From what he understood from Leon, Merlin never really had and still didn't seem to confide in any of them—not the knights, not Gwen, not even Arthur.

And Gwaine wasn't sure he wanted to keep buying the story that nothing ever went horribly wrong in Merlin's life to the point where he needed to lean on someone other than Gaius.

But Merlin wasn't giving him any other choice, unless he deliberately tried to pry into something when he clearly wasn't wanted. Curious though he was, Gwaine didn't want to risk his friendship with Merlin. Not yet. Not unless things seemed to escalate.

Fortunately, he _was_ awfully good at reading the situation and determining how quickly things were likely to go south. That skill had been honed from years of reading volatile tavern crowds. So if it looked like Merlin needed him, even if Merlin didn't seem to think he needed him, he could be there.

Gwaine fixed an easy smile on his face and clapped Merlin on the back. "You do that," he said.

* * *

Arthur hadn't had time to say much to Guinevere before the meeting. He could, however, read the disappointment in her eyes. George stood in Merlin's usual place, ready to attend to their every need, while Merlin was off doing…whatever he was doing. Arthur no longer felt comfortable assuming he knew what Merlin was up to.

To be honest, he was a bit surprised Merlin hadn't turned up here anyway, but he was rather grateful for it. He would have felt obliged to say something then. Merlin may not have intended to pressure him into saying anything—particularly if he was doing nothing more than _looking_ at Arthur—but Arthur would have felt it nonetheless.

The trouble was, Arthur needed to decide whether or not he should _trust_ Merlin—not wholeheartedly, of course, but marginally, as a show of faith.

Faith he wasn't entirely sure he had.

It was just…_magic_.

Did he really want to do _anything_ that would allow it more freedom?

Beneath the table, Guinevere's hand found his and squeezed it gently. He wished he had her faith. She still didn't know the whole story, but she felt she knew enough. She hadn't lost as much to magic as he had, but she was far from free of the scars it left.

The difference was that she knew better than he the scars left behind by the fight against magic. He was uncomfortably aware of the unintentional slaughter of innocents. She was all too familiar with the plight of the falsely accused.

If he was going to bring anything up, though, it had to be now—once they'd discussed all the major (and minor) issues in excruciating detail but before the subtle hints surfaced to indicate it was time to dismiss the meeting.

Arthur glanced at Gwen before taking a deep breath and saying, "There is one more issue I feel we should address."

"My lord?"

The council looked at him expectantly. From the corner of his eye, he could see a small, encouraging smile on Guinevere's face. He knew it would not be wiped clean by his next words, but he didn't have the same assurance for the careful expressions of anyone else. "I believe it best if we take some precautions," Arthur said carefully, "regarding the use of magic in Camelot."

The oldest of his councilmen—and the finickiest of them all, in Arthur's opinion—cleared his throat. "Sire," he began, "I believe we are all in agreement that magic is _not_ to be used here?"

He'd expected this, but that didn't make combating it any easier. "In most circumstances, I would not hesitate to agree with your assessment."

"Then there are circumstances where you would find it allowable, my lord?"

"Under my father's laws," Arthur replied cautiously, "I would not discriminate. Magic is magic, black or no. But I made a promise some years ago, and I am bound to my word. The Druid people should be treated with respect. Magic is infused in their ways of life, and providing they do not use it with ill intent, I do not feel we should continue to persecute them within Camelot's borders."

Silence for a long moment. Finally, from another councilman, "And the precautions you spoke of, my lord?"

"Primarily, increasing the relations between our peoples. We must better understand them, and they us, if we are to keep a lasting peace." _And keep any of them from siding with Morgana_. "I have no doubt they have a long list of grievances against the Pendragons which must be addressed. We will have to enter negotiations to come to fair settlements."

"There will be those who will not forgive Camelot's past actions, sire," the eldest councilman observed. "If we show leniency, how can we ensure that they will not strike?"

_Hopefully, few will want to risk the wrath of Emrys. _But Arthur's confidence in Merlin was still rather weak. He still couldn't quite reconcile the idea of Merlin being a great sorcerer, for all that he couldn't deny that Merlin had magic. "We can prepare for the possibility as best we can," Arthur allowed, "but we cannot stop them from acting against us if that is their wish, and I do not intend to try. I do not want to encourage hostility."

"You would see us in a vulnerable position, open to attack by those who would take advantage of our show of good faith, sire?"

Arthur gritted his teeth before forcing himself to relax. "I am aware of the position in which we would be placed, but I do not believe our actions would have any effect if we did otherwise." In all likelihood, they'd be dismissed, scorned, thought a ploy….

Perhaps he could have Merlin talk to them, if he must, but he couldn't afford not to be believed. If Morgana…. He needed to bolster the number of his supporters. He did not wish to use the Druids as a shield by any means; he merely did not want any more enemies than he already had.

He hoped _that_ much was not wishful thinking, though he knew enough not to be overly optimistic, given his past actions and that of his father.

"You propose we amend the laws, my lord?"

"I propose we consider it," Arthur replied. "I do not intend to go back on my word; I will find a way to treat the Druids with the respect they deserve. However, I acknowledge that this may not be the best way, and we will discuss the matter further at our next meeting."

There were murmurs of "Yes, sire," and "Of course, my lord," all around, and Arthur adjourned the meeting.

As everyone was filing out, Guinevere leaned in and whispered, "I'm proud of you," before giving him a quick peck on the cheek, and the knot in Arthur's stomach loosened slightly.

Perhaps he wouldn't regret saying anything after all.

True, he had brought up nothing that would _specifically_ help—and protect—Merlin. But this was one way to test the waters, so to speak. He needed his people to be used to the idea that _he_ was still struggling with: that perhaps magic is not inherently evil but only as black as its user. The thought was still hard to believe when he remembered his happy years growing up with Morgana, but Merlin's very presence was forcing him to consider the possible truth in the words.

Merlin was forcing him to consider and remember many things of late, not the least of it his promise to the spirit of the Druid boy. He should have taken action to see it better carried out years ago, yet he hadn't. He'd needed to be spurred into action, reminded that he couldn't put something off and continue to ignore it for a time because the prospect of change was unpleasant.

So perhaps the Stone with which the Druids had gifted him was not misplaced after all, seeing as it had done exactly what they had intended: fostered peace between them, granted them safety in his kingdom, and, unless he was very much mistaken, sparked the beginning of change—change which would benefit everyone.

Arthur dearly hoped he was not misreading the situation and that the time for change was indeed ripe.

* * *

A/N: It's not much progress, admittedly, but considering it's Arthur, it's definitely progress. *grins* Thanks to everyone who has been taking the time to review!


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